


In Time Of Need

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Accidents, Aftermath of Violence, Anger, Angst and Feels, Apologies, Arguing, Banter, Bedside Vigils, Blood and Violence, Coma, Confusion, Crying, Danger, Explanations, Games, Guilt, Heartache, Hospitalization, Hurt No Comfort, Hypnotism, Impulse Control, Insults, Jack Is In A Coma, Magic, Major Character Injury, Making Up, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Mid-Canon, Mind Manipulation, Misunderstandings, Multiple Selves, Old Wounds, Out of Body Experiences, Past Torture, Platonic Cuddling, Possession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Promises, Regret, Relationship Discussions, Routine, Sadness, Self-Hatred, Shock, Surgery, Surprises, mauling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-05-05 14:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 63,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: The Egos try to cope with the heartache Jack's coma is causing them. Each of them do it in their own way.Chapt. 25: Now in control of Marvin’s body and his black magic, Anti entertains himself with the others and makes some revisions.





	1. Discord (Part 1)

 

“Tell me this is a joke.”

Jackieboy had known that his news wasn’t going to be received well, but he was expecting…more than what Henrik was giving him. Instead of shaking with barely suppressed anger, instead of cursing him out and waving his hands wildly until he broke something, the doctor stood still, leaning against the counter in his examination room with his arms loosely folded. His pale features were stony and his tone was all too even, almost flat.

“It’s not,” Jackieboy assured him quietly.

At that Schneep offered a short shake of the head. “It is, it must be. You tell me this is some little joke you decide to pull at a _very wrong_ moment, and then we can get back to work.”

“Henrik, I need to go.” When his friend barely blinked in reaction, Jackie sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to find the words to explain. “I’m not doing any good pacin’ back and forth here while you slave over Jack. All I can do is ask you for news when I _know_ you don’t have any.”

“Well, thank you for _insulting_ me. I’m trying my best,” Schneep huffed curtly, causing Jackie to bite back his frustration.

“I know, I know you are. But we both know it hasn’t been working, so I need to try my best too. I’m heading out to try and find Anti. He’s sure to be based somewhere in the city, as he usually is, but I haven’t gotten the chance to scour his usual bases while we’ve been busy here. I have to go where I can do some good.”

There was a delicate pause, during which Schneep let his arms slide away from his chest and instead curled his fingers over the counter he was perched on, ducking his head for a few moments and taking a deep breath.

“And Chase?” he spat, looking up with narrowed, shadowed eyes. “What about him? Hm? You just leave him? He’s emotional, he’s vulnerable. Nothing I can say changes it, Jackie, nothing I do is helping. He—needs— _you_.”

“Henrik—”

“Stop!” Schneep cut him off sharply, the anger finally showing its face. If Jackieboy had expected more of him, he was going to give him more. Pushing himself to full height, he approached, continuing, “ _You_ got him through it when Stacy took his little ones, _you_ got him through it when he shot himself, and now when our Jack is—when our Jack is… _sleeping_ …and Chase Brody is on the very edge of another meltdown, you flitter away? I don’t think so!”

“It’s not your decision to make!”

“You think it’s not? You think I can’t keep you here for the good of one of my patients? You want Chase to suffer?!”

“Of course not!” the hero cried indignantly. “This is something that _needs to be done!_ ”

“It’s not! You always search for Anti and you never, ever, ever find him! I tell you why you want to go out there: you want to _run!_ You do not want to look at us, you don’t want to face us! You don’t want to think about any of this; you’d rather just dump it on us—on _me_ —because it is my _job!_ ” Schneep sneered, his accent coming in thick as it only did when he became cruel. “I don’t have luxury of running away! I have to watch Jack breathe through machines and change his IVs and listen to Chase plead and cry over him! Well, apparently you’re not as heroic as you think you are!”

“You’re one to talk!” Jackie hollered, looming over him. “You think it doesn’t affect me?! You think you and Chase are the only ones who—”

“No, but at least I _stay!_ ”

“Oh, that’s rich! I know you, Henrik; you stay because you feel guilty!” the older Ego accused, shoving him back a few steps to get him out of his face. He didn’t let him regain his balance long enough for a comeback. “If it were anyone else in that coma, you’d come cryin’ to me like you always do! You’re only trying to blame it on me because _you_ were the one who put Jack in this coma in the first place by _failing_ him— _like you always do!_ ”

Jackieboy hadn’t realized he was screaming until the last words reverberated through the exam room and bounced back at him. As soon as they registered, he froze. His breath caught. All the color was draining from Schneep’s face, leaving his friend—his _friend!_ —completely ashen. The horror, the heartache, the betrayal in his face was worse than any knife Anti had plunged into Jackie’s chest.

“H—” he croaked, shifting forward helplessly. “Henrik—”

“Go,” Schneep muttered thickly, pulling his dim, wet eyes away from Jackie’s and fixing them on the scuffed linoleum as he slumped against the back wall, defeated and pained. “Do what you want.”

No, no, no, Jackie couldn’t leave like that! He had to fix this somehow, he had to—How could he have ever said—?

“I’m…s-sorry…”

It was shameful, pitiful. He wanted nothing more than to rush at him, tear him away from the wall and envelop him so completely that the entire conversation would seem like nothing but a nightmare, but Schneep was hugging his arms gingerly around himself, putting a barrier between them.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, aghast, appalled at how little the words mattered. He couldn’t do anything but repeat them. “I—I’m so sorry…”

Henrik didn’t look up. “I know you are,” he assured him, soft and tremulous, curling into himself as tears darkened his lashes. “Go.”

A lump the size of a boulder had lodged in the back of Jackie’s throat, his own vision blurring as he offered nothing but a shaky exhale and a weak, halfhearted brush of his fingers against the back of Henrik’s hand as goodbye.

It occurred to him as he wandered dejectedly toward the door that he didn’t know when he would return. He had no idea.

Maybe if Jack woke between now and then, the others would be willing to forgive him.


	2. Peekaboo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie wants his creator to play games with him. For some reason, Jack isn’t in the mood to play, but that doesn’t mean Robbie’s giving up on him.

“Ja-a-acks…” Robbie slurred, pawing curiously at the blankets tucked carefully around his creator’s torso. They weren’t as soft as he would have imagined they were, but they seemed to make Jack comfortable. He was still lying peacefully with his eyes closed.

“Ja-a-a-acks?” the zombie tried again, moving his clumsy fingers from the soft-not-soft blankets to Jack’s arm. It wasn’t like his own skin; it was pleasantly warm, smooth, unscarred.

_Sheep taught…warm skin means live…_

He didn’t need to be worried about Jack, did he? But no matter how Robbie was tugging on his hand, his creator didn’t turn his head to look at him. Robbie paused, brows furrowing, chewing on his lower lip in thought and then wetting it for the taste of old blood. It took him far longer than it would have taken any of the others, but an idea abruptly came to him. He lit up, squeezing Jack’s hand tightly with another decisive tug and grinning from ear to ear.

Jack was playing with him! It was a game of peekaboo; he had to convince him to open his eyes. Giggling, he sidled closer to Jack’s head, pushing aside racks with bags of liquid hanging on them and ignoring how he got tangled up in the tubes.

“Ja-a-acks! Pe-e-e-ek! Peek!” he exclaimed, pressing his weathered hands over Jack’s face and then pulling them away, hoping to reveal those pretty blue eyes. He’d never had pretty blue eyes; Jack’s were so pretty! But they weren’t there. Robbie tilted his head, puzzled, and then carefully rested his hands against Jack’s warm skin a second time. “Peek! Peek! Jacks! Peek!”

Why wasn’t he playing the game? He had started it, hadn’t he? He was supposed to show Robbie his big blue eyes and all his big white teeth and tell him he was happy with him! Cautiously the zombie leaned down, peering closely at Jack’s face before gingerly poking a finger at his cheek.

 _Soft. Squishy. Warm skin means live_. “Want Jacks to game,” he complained, poking him a second time. “Game! Peek!”

“Robbie!”

The voice of the doctor startled the zombie, causing him to right himself too quickly and catch his elbow on some of the tubes and bags, ripping them from their stand and splattering them over the floor.

“Robbie, what are you doing?!” Schneep hollered, crossing the lab from the door in four quick strides and rapidly pulling the IV leads over the zombie’s head, dragging him away from Jack’s bed by the arm. “You aren’t meant to be anywhere near these, you know that! I tell you that a thousand times!”

“Jacks play _game!_ ” Robbie whined, wrenching his arm out of Schneep’s hands and gesturing pleadingly at their creator as Schneep began hastily hooking up replacements and throwing paper towels over the mess Robbie had created. Robbie pouted as Jack still refused to move, not even to agree with his protest. It was their game! It wasn’t Robbie’s fault that Jack wouldn’t play right!

Only when the liquid bags were hung just right did Schneep relax, turning his attention to their creator. Looking troubled, he loomed over him, pressing one hand against his throat and gently smoothing his tousled hair back with the other and murmuring something in a language Robbie couldn’t understand. When he finished, he peered sternly over.

“Bertie. What do I tell you over and over, every time you come here?” he snapped.

Scuffing his feet against the floor, Robbie stuck his lower lip out farther as he muttered, “No game with tubes.”

“No. What I tell you is that when you want to see Jack, you come and get me! I will show you how to see him safely!”

 _Sheep won’t let Jacks play games if he see him “safely”_ , Robbie mused grumpily, but he wasn’t about to say that to the doctor. He was already upset, so Robbie just hunched his shoulders and grunted an assent, glancing at Jack one last time before lumbering toward the door.

Next time, he promised himself, he’d convince Jack to peek when Schneep wasn’t looking.


	3. Discord (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackieboy returns, but he’s not in any condition to make amends with the doctor he hurt so badly. Schneep has to save his life first. 

Schneep thought about him as soon as he pried his eyes open each day. There was a tangible emptiness when he stumbled out of bed, shrugged on his coat and made his way down the hall toward the lab, only to find that Jackie wasn’t waiting for him outside the locked door.

It wasn’t right. His throat always felt dry and tight when he remembered the terrible things he had said…the terrible things Jackie had said to him in return. Each morning, they made him pause with his hand on the handle, his key in the lock, leaning his head against the doorframe and trying to remember how breathing worked.

_“I don’t have luxury of running away! I have to watch Jack breathe through machines…”_

_“I know you, Henrik; you stay because you feel guilty!”_

His hand shook, sweat causing his fingers to slip against the smooth metal doorknob. He knew. He knew it was true, but that didn’t mean hearing the words from Jackie of all people had hurt any less.

He should never have let him leave. He should have begged him to stay; he had heard the shock and the regret in the hero’s voice as soon as he’d realized all of the hurtful things he’d said. If Schneep had asked him, he  _would_  have stayed just to make up for wounding him so badly. Instead, Schneep had told him to leave. He hadn’t been able to stomach  _looking_  at him, much less try to go about his day with him.

If Schneep hadn’t raised a fuss about him leaving in the first place, Jackie never would have said those things. He would have gotten a hug before he left instead of a pathetic touch of the hand. He should have supported his friend. Jackie was trying to cope in the best way he knew. Search for Anti. It was his answer to everything. Schneep should have understood that.

Guilt burning bitterly against the back of his eyes, he did his best to collect himself, slipping into the lab. As soon as he laid eyes on Jack, however, the tears took full shape, blurring his view until he hastily scrubbed the back of his sleeve over his face and crossed the room.

“G—Good morning, Jack,” he whispered, laying a hand over his creator’s. He could almost imagine that Jack’s fingers twitched underneath his own, but he knew they hadn’t. For a long minute he simply stared at him, taking in his pale features. His cheeks were getting scruffier day by day. Schneep would need to shave him soon. Such a simple task, but he didn’t want to think about it. He cleared his throat, lifting his voice a little more to fill the deep void of silence.

“I haven’t even had my coffee yet. You know I need that caffeine, but I tend to you first. Not very many people get Dr. Schneeple’s pre-coffee treatment…You are special. You get spoiled,” he rambled softly as he changed the IV bags. “I wonder if I were to put coffee in these IVs, if you would open those eyes. You cannot resist good coffee. Or…heh. Banana milk. You would surely wake up for that, wouldn’t you?” His voice broke as he attempted a weak laugh and his faint smile faded. “…My Jack. You are something. You do like to play with our little brains, don’t you? But this…th-this is…more than that. I played with yours a-and I…I did it  _wrong_.”

_“You were the one who put Jack in this coma in the first place by failing him—like you always do!”_

“I wish…none of this had happened. I wish I had never even touched you. If I hadn’t, you—you would be awake now. You could have done it yourself. You were stronger on your own, Jack…you…you never needed me.”

As soon as he said it, he couldn’t stand to look at Jack anymore, whirling around and making a beeline for the door. He knew Jack wouldn’t be alone for too long; Chase would be coming to watch over him within the hour, which gave him the excuse to escape.

Somehow, facing Jack wasn’t even as difficult as facing his coworkers every day. They were making more and more comments about how haggard and exhausted he looked, but they couldn’t complain about his work. Schneep made sure that his work didn’t suffer because of his family. All he could do was internalize, internalize, internalize until he got in the taxi and could cry it out on the way home. The taxi driver had learned by now not to ask any questions.

Until then, however, he had to stay collected. The patients passed back and forth before his eyes, all blending together, none of them too extraordinary or memorable. They weren’t who he was thinking of, but he forced himself to treat them nonetheless. They were important. He had to do his best for them, just as he would for his family.

“Are you okay, mister?” the little girl sitting on his examination table questioned cautiously as he fit her cast on her arm. It was pretty sad when his patients noticed how grim he was.

“Don’t you worry,” he assured her with a weak smile. “Dr. Schneeplestein just hasn’t had his coffee today. I will be just fine.”  _Lies, lies, lies, lies_. Everything was a lie.

The little girl didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t get a chance to keep prying further; both she and Schneep were distracted by the small swarm of doctors making a commotion on the other side of the hall.

“…Male, mid to late twenties, medium build, multiple contusions and lacerations—He’s taken a blow to the head—”

“Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Can you tell me who you are?”

“We all  _know_  who he is, Rena; this is Jackieboy Man!”

No.  _No_.

Schneep’s heart surged up into his throat just as the pit of his stomach plunged, tools falling through his hands with a shattering clang as he bolted across the hall with reckless abandon, shoving past the other startled physicians and latching onto the edge of the gurney with clammy hands.

“Jackieboy?” he gasped out, his breath quickening in a race with his heart and his stumbling skips to keep up as he was dragged down the hall. The more his eyes widened, the more he could see the subtle difference between the red in Jackie’s suit and the bloodstains. There were too many. “Jackie, Jackie, what have you  _done?_ ”

The hero shifted slightly at the sound of his name, prying half-lidded eyes open to wander toward the lights overhead, though it wasn’t as much of a relief as it should have been. Even with the shimmering rings of silver light around his pupils, indicating he’d used his powers recently, his gaze was too glazed, too dilated, Schneep agonized. Sticky, half-dried blood was crusted over his temple, on his hood, in his hair—he had to have a concussion.

“I don’t—where is he? I’m not down yet, I’m not…lemme back…” the older Ego murmured blearily, his hands twitching as if he were about to try pushing himself upright. Schneep promptly snatched the closer one, squeezing it helplessly.

“Stay still, stay! You’re in hospital, you’re hurt; you have to stay so we can help you!” he implored, to which Jackieboy’s brows furrowed in mingling pain and confusion.

“H’spital…?” He tried to shake his head, hissing through his teeth as he earned a spike of pain for his troubles. “No-o-o,” he whined, letting his head fall back and blinking heavily. “No…no, not here…”

“What?”

“Get…get me outta here, I don’t want—H’nrik’s gonna kill me if he sees…If he…sees…”

Fairly quivering with unspoken disbelief and a faint twinge of anger, Schneep clutched his hand all the tighter. “You’re not going anywhere! You’re going to be okay; just stay with me.” He spoke too late. After his friend’s next flickering blink, his eyes fell closed and didn’t reopen. “Jackie! No! Jackie, open your eyes…Jackie! Stay with me here!”

“Schneeplestein, you need to step back,” one of the other doctors began, grabbing at his shoulder. “He needs to be—”

“No, shut up!” Schneep half-sobbed, half-screeched, wrenching out from his reach. “ _I’m going to save him!_ ” Though it went against everything in him, he pried his grip away from Jackieboy’s limp fingers and ducked around the gurney so he could wildly point them in the direction of his preferred operating booth.

Though he performed the surgery (accepting very little help from the nurses along the way, never thinking to thank them where they  _did_ assist), Schneep wasn’t there to see Jackieboy transferred to a room. As soon as he was stabilized and Schneep could be certain that his lung wouldn’t collapse again, he promptly excused himself to the nearest supply room, dumped several packages of gauze out of their assigned bin and retched into it.

Nothing substantial came up, given that he hadn’t eaten anything today and he’d only taken a few moments between patients for water, but he couldn’t stop. He wasn’t even sure  _why!_  He had succeeded. He had saved Jackie’s life; he was  _safe_ , so why did he still feel so chilled, so terrified?

It wasn’t that he wondered what could have happened if he hadn’t saved him; he knew exactly what would have happened. A pneumothorax led to low blood pressure, low blood pressure led to shock, and shock led to…He was all too well aware of the “what ifs” and over the years he’d become a master of pushing them away. Why was this different?

The nauseating sensation didn’t abate as he pushed the bin aside and stumbled back into the hall, waving vaguely in acknowledgement as one of the nurses read his mind and called Jackie’s room number out to him. When he found the proper door, he didn’t hesitate to go in, but as soon as he shouldered the door closed behind him and looked up, his breath hitched and he instinctively recoiled, the door handle digging into his lower back as he pressed against it.

Jackie. It didn’t look anything like him; he was stripped of his mask and his jumpsuit, leaving nothing but a bare, colorless face and a medical gown and bandages and blankets around his waist and an IV lead and a nasal cannula and he—he was still unconscious.

Comatose.

 _Jack_.

The fear became realization, the realization became dread, and the world swerved out from under him. As soon as he hit the floor, the doctor curled into himself, tucking his face between his knees and clutching his hands close to his aching chest. This wasn’t Jack. This was Jackie, which only made it  _worse_ , because Schneep had  _put him there_. Deep down, he knew that he was to blame.

 _If you hadn’t fought with him, he wouldn’t have been distracted! You know he was thinking of_ you _instead of how recklessly he was fighting! You put him here, just like Jack! Just like J̡a̷ck. You failed the bo͜th of them_.

It seemed his taxi driver wasn’t going to be seeing his tears today; they were already spilling over and he was helpless to stop them. His only instinct was to stifle the sobs by snatching at the hem of his coat and burying his face in it until he was near-suffocating.

A mere four feet away, unnoticed by the distraught younger Ego, his hero stirred.


	4. Finding Purchase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chase doesn’t expect any change in Jack’s condition while he watches over him. He receives the shock of his life for his troubles.

Chase’s propped boots slid abruptly from their perch on the railing of the medical bed, falling to the floor with a heavy thud and startling their owner awake. Blinking disorientedly, he struggled to pull himself upright in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside Jack’s bed, self-consciously swiping away the thin trail of drool that had snuck down his chin and then peeking at his creator. Nothing had changed; he still lay unconscious before him.

“Geez, I’m sorry, Jack. Didn’t mean to fall asleep…Imagine if you’d woken up to that,” he mumbled. “Bet I’d look like a real idiot.”

It shouldn’t be any surprise to him that he’d dozed off, though. As he rubbed at his aching neck, he made a vague effort at math. How long had it been since he’d visited his bed? Three—no, four days? Four and a half? Something like that.

Schneep had insisted on setting up a cot for him in the corner of the lab, but Chase had only used it once. He preferred to stay as close to Jack as possible and he didn’t feel like going to the trouble of dragging the cot all the way over here. Every day, the lab seemed like it got larger and larger. Sooner or later, it was going to roll in on itself and swallow them.

Leaning his elbows on his knees, Chase studied Jack for several seconds, searching for any movement that might have happened since he’d stopped paying attention. Guilt and despair were already starting to claw at his ribcage, tightening his lungs, making it harder to breathe. He had sworn that he wouldn’t leave, but the fact remained that he didn’t want to see Jack like this.

 _But I don’t_ get _what I want. I never do, at least not for long_ , he mused apathetically. Jack hadn’t moved a muscle. Of course he hadn’t. Maybe if Chase picked up his hand and placed it on his chest, he could try very, very hard to convince himself that he had done it on his own.

His own sarcasm was creating a prickly ache in his heart; it wasn’t helping anything. Curling in on himself, he ducked his head, let his eyes close and sighed deeply through the exhaustion. It clung to his back like a parasite, heavy and unrelenting.

_PMA, Chase. Keep it together. PMA. Gotta keep that PM—oh, what does that even mean anymore?_

“Jack…” he began softly, not bothering to open his eyes or lift his head. “I’m trying really hard here, buddy, I’m trying really, _really_ hard. I—I know you’ve got a plan here. You’ve always got a plan. You made us for a reason. You haven’t woken up for a reason. But did you…did you, uh, ever think about how much it would hurt us? Hmm? You ever think about that? Because it’s tearing us apart.” Hot, wet pressure stung behind his eyelids and he pressed his lips tightly together, trying to find the right words.

“Jackieboy and the doc fought, Jack. They _fought_. You know how tight those two are; you know they never fight, but they did—over you, over me, all of this. Now Jackie’s gone and I don’t even know if they made up before he left. Schneep’s coming home from work every day with his eyes all red and he tries to hide it. He’ll probably do it again today. Didn’t even touch his coffee before he left. And you…just _lie there_ and don’t do a thing about it.”

He hadn’t held out much hope for a protest at that, but what little hope he had didn’t last long. Jack lived up to his words, not batting an eye, and Chase huffed shakily, sitting further up in his chair and raising his voice.

“Jack? Listen to me, if you can. I…I’m askin’ you to come back. Okay? I’m _asking_ you to come back to us. We need you here, man, and I don’t know what we’re gonna do if you don’t—” _If you don’t make it_. “I just w-want you back. Please. You gotta come back, Dad, please—”

He had no time to notice the slipup as the nearby monitors suddenly blared to life, alarms trilling and twittering in a ghastly chorus. Throwing himself out of his chair, Chase gripped the edges of the nearest screen, watching the numbers fly up and down too fast for him to process. Static buzzed, the screen sparked, and twin blips of green flashed over the EKG line, scrambling it.

“Jack? Jack?!” the vlogger cried out, gasping as he whirled away from the screen to see his creator throwing an arm out toward him. Even as he lunged out of reach, Jack lashed out again, clawing desperately at the air before slamming his hands against the bed railing and howling.

“ _O-o-o-o-out!_ ”

Legs scrambling for purchase against the mattress and tangling the blankets, Jack arched his back and screamed again, a garbled, staticky screech of wordless agony that set all of Chase’s hair on end.

“Jack, stop it, _stop it!_ ” he wept in horror, pressing his hands against his mouth as his creator thrashed and kicked and tossed his head, veins in his neck and arms swelling as his heart seized. Wild, bloodshot blue eyes flew open, streaming tears, and Chase was sure his heart stopped.

“ _Jack?!_ ”

There was one last wretched wheeze, a convulsive shudder, and then his creator collapsed back against the mattress, gone. The alarms ceased.

Gaping, Chase stood where he was for a solid thirty seconds and quaked in uncertain terror. “Jack?” he whispered hoarsely, creeping closer inch by inch, turning huge eyes to the monitors. They beeped, steady and disturbingly quiet, as if none of what Chase had just witnessed had happened.

“J—” Chase choked on a sob. “Jack…p-please…please, no…”

No response. Jack lay splayed out in the tangled, sweat-soaked sheets, expressionless, eyes closed—utterly dead to the world. When Chase faintly brushed against his wrist, there was no reaction but a slow, shallow pulse.

His young Ego tried to find air but couldn’t, swaying, stumbling and collapsing back into the chair when his legs wouldn’t hold him anymore.


	5. Discord (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackieboy wakes up dazed and confused in the hospital and realizes that somewhere in the room, someone’s crying.

_My head…aches…Where—?_

Jackieboy found it surprisingly difficult to form full thoughts as he drifted back into consciousness, but as soon as he remembered the last face he’d seen before darkness swarmed in, he went rigid, wide eyes flying open, adrenaline surging to all systems. Recon—Anti—he had to—

The few inches he shifted sent a scorching blast of pain to his side and he lost his breath, easing gingerly back against the pillows and anxiously scanning what he could see of the room from there. This wasn’t like any hideout Anti had ever imprisoned him in, he realized. It smelled sterile, sick, and sad simultaneously—and someone was crying.

Jackieboy lay very still, unsure of where the sound was coming from; the pounding in his head and the beeping of his heart monitor were throwing him off. Below him? A few feet away? He couldn’t sit up to see anyone without giving away that he was awake. Should he risk it? What if this was a trick? He would never put it past Anti to test him by letting him think that he was safe, leaving bait in his “hospital room” and rigging some kind of death trap to kill him as soon as he tried to intervene. The more he strained his ears to listen, however, the more realization trickled into his mind and his heart began twisting his stomach into knots.

He knew those sobs. He’d heard them more than he ever would have wanted to. They were for patients he’d agonized over, patients he’d lost, patients he…blamed himself for creating. It was a wrenching sound, shuddery and breathless and guttural, like his heart was being torn out of his chest piece by piece.

If Anti would use _anyone_ to bait him, it would be Henrik, Jackieboy mused frantically, wishing he could claw at his ears, block out the noise. He remembered the Glitch’s taunts about the doctor and his failure to save Jack as they’d fought, as the knife had torn through Jackieboy’s skin like shredded paper. He remembered Anti growling gleefully into his ear as he’d gouged the blade into his side.

“Y͟ou’ve do̴n̶e me a f͜a͜v͝or̵, _J̛ack҉i̸e̷boy͡_. You aban̶don th̶e͡m, I͢ ͟di̢s̢po̡s͡e o͡f̶ yo̢u…and now D̕a̷dd͜y͡ and his l̵įt͠t͝le ̴h̨e̵lper have n̨o͠ ̢o͜n͞e to _save_ them.” Jackie had no answer but a wet, heaving cough, and Anti had chuckled and dragged the knife upward, opening the wound farther as his voice fell to a vindictively gentle whisper. “Don’t yo̡u w͢ish͠ ͞h̢e could̷’v͘e _foŗgi̢ve͜n_ y̧ou?”

There was a memory missing. Whatever had happened after was too fuzzy, too distant—there were lights? Jackie remembered lying on his back, watching fluorescent lights fly past overhead, but what had Anti been doing then? Where had he been? Had he—?

At the thought of what Henrik and Chase would _endure_ if Anti tried to go through them for Jack, any fear for his own safety was flicked out of his mind. His side—he couldn’t breathe, but he tried to force words.

“Anti…” he wheezed, barely a whisper. His face tightening as each sharp movement sent a shock to his nerves, he groped desperately for the bars on the sides of his bed, trying to reel himself upright. His voice cracked as he tried to raise it, but he persisted, coughing raggedly. “Anti! You laid a hand on any of—an’ I’ll— _ghh_ —!” The heart monitor trilled warningly at him as he huffed out a breathless curse, curling in on himself.

Because his eyes were closed, he couldn’t see it coming to brace himself as he was knocked backwards by arms flung around him. Stunned by the unexpected blow, he couldn’t even cry out, but his pain was pushed to the corner of his mind as he felt more than heard the same familiar sobs against his hospital gown.

“Hen…?” he croaked out as a damp spot in the crook of his shoulder bloomed. Gingerly lifting a hand to the doctor’s trembling back, he tried to catch his breath and register what was happening. He felt real, sounded real, smelled real—the same clinging scent of sweat and metal and peppermint—but somehow it still felt entirely wrong. “Henrik…”

“’msorry’msorry’msorryJackie’msorry—”

“What…?”

Schneep sobbed with force at the faint, uncertain question, clutching at his neck, weakly rocking the both of them. “’m _sorry_ ,” he choked out again. “’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“What…?” Jackieboy could only repeat, giving him a hesitant side glance and instinctively rubbing his hand in reassuring circles over his back. “You didn’t… _hurt_ me, Henrik, what’re you talking about?”

“I let you go! I should’ve stopped you—or I should’ve gone _with_ you—I should never—I can’t lose _both_ my friends this way! Y-You…and Jack…I f-failed you just the same as I failed _him!_ I turned my b-back on you and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“Whoa, no, what are you talking about?” the hero demanded for a third time, more strongly this time, as he carefully extricated himself from Schneep’s grip to finally get a look at him. He regretted it almost instantly. If Henrik had looked terrible when he left, he looked like death warmed over now—no, with red-rimmed eyes, smeared, smudged glasses and a runny nose he looked like death set out to be chilled in the rain overnight.

“You didn’t turn your back on me,” Jackieboy stammered out at last. “I left.”

Schneep hiccupped emotionally, childishly, at that statement, shaking his head. “I _tell_ you to go.”

“But I was leaving anyway…How’re you blaming yourself for that?” he questioned, eyes narrowing in concern. Schneep tensed and shivered, his breaths coming too harsh and too fast, and Jackie forewent an answer, tightening his hand on his friend’s shoulder and wincing deeply at how the skin at his side pulled.

“Ow—Okay. Okay, you’re gonna hyperventilate. C’mon, slow it down,” he soothed, keeping their eyes locked and lowering his voice to the steady professionalism he used to reassure people in shock while they waited for their ambulance. “Deeper breaths, buddy, you know how this works. Hold ’em deep down…and then out slowly. Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay…”

When Schneep finally gave him the hurried nod to let him know he was okay to continue on his own, Jackie released a breath he hadn’t realized _he_ was holding, slumping back and screwing his eyes shut, pressing his arm flat against his burning side. After a minute or so, he felt Schneep shift off the bed and pull on the IV lead in his right arm. A few clicks later, the tension in his body was draining away, as was the burn. Jackie made a light noise of surprise and relief as a mellow, pleasant tingle spilled over him.

“S’that the good stuff?” he asked rhetorically, laughing a little as he peered up at his friend. Schneep sniffed and nodded, scrubbing a hand down his face and trying to force a smile in return, but his eyes were still overly bright. Jackieboy’s wry smile faded, the initial euphoria dissipating as he thought back to their last real conversation. It still hung in the air between them, unaddressed. Sure, he had apologized, but it was just as Anti had said, ironically enough. He wanted Schneep to forgive him. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself until then.

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” he stated softly. “They weren’t true. I just…wanted to get you to back off. I—I wanted to hurt you. All I could think of was Anti. I know it’s no excuse but I couldn’t just—”

“No, no, you were right,” Schneep cut him off tightly, not quite looking him in the eyes as he fiddled with the edge of the blankets. “I know, believe me. I am not stranger to failure…Nothing I do is helping. It’s not your fault it’s true. I do not help Jack or Chase; you just didn’t want to stand there and _watch_ me fail every day. Is not productive. I only wanted you to stay because you are more effective than I am, Jackie. You save them. I don’t.”

Taken aback, Jackieboy opened his mouth but no words were immediately forthcoming. What on earth could he say to that? Did he actually think that was _true?_ Chase would have been long gone, lost to a bullet, if Schneep hadn’t operated on him! They wouldn’t even have the hope of a _coma_ for a Jack if he hadn’t been there! But as much as he wanted to say these things, he could tell by the doctor’s expression that he probably wouldn’t be able to really hear it.

“Henrik…You saved _me_ ,” he ventured at last, causing Schneep’s hands to still over the blanket’s folds. “I _know_ these stitches I got in this rib here are yours. I’ve had ’em before—same side, even, when we first met. You remember that?”

Schneep’s nod was so small that it was almost imperceptible, but it was there. It didn’t seem like he was getting through to him. Biting back a sigh, he reached out and snatched at his friend’s sleeve, ignoring how the needle in his arm stung.

“It’s cold in here.”

Instead of understanding, Schneep glanced toward the door. “I can steal another blanket from the patient down the hall—”

Huffing, Jackie snatched at the folds that had just been so carefully pulled smooth, dramatically flinging the top sheet open and then re-extending his hand. “It’s cold,” he repeated, wiggling his fingers expectantly. “I’m cold.”

When Schneep offered no answer but to blink in surprise, Jackie kicked the bare foot that was exposed to the air and put an extra whine into his voice. “Come o-o-on, Marvin’s not here to be our human heating pad. I’m gonna go hypothermic—wait, what’s that? My doctor’s trying not to _smile?_ He would let me shiver under these itchy hospital blankets without sharing my suffering? The nerve!” Even as warmth curled in his chest at the sight of Schneep’s grin—a rarity these days, to be sure—his voice softened as he concluded, “I just wanna give him the hug he didn’t get before I left.”

At that the doctor paused, cautiously tilting his head, and Jackie patiently beckoned a third time. Finally Schneep offered another tiny nod, his smile lingering as he slid under the top sheet, leaving a few blankets between them so he wouldn’t disturb any of Jackie’s bandages as he tucked his face into his side.

“… _Ich habe dich vermisst_ ,” he murmured at last, his voice muffled.

“I missed you too,” Jackieboy assured him, lightly ruffling his friend’s hair and then combing it back into place immediately after. Schneep didn’t give any indication that he minded, so he did it again. With repetition, the motion became mindless. Jackie could do it with his eyes closed…

Eventually his fingers stilled, sliding out of his hair to catch on the fold in his collar, and neither of them was awake to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About time they got some sl̸e̷e̡p, don't you think?


	6. Disconnection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Straining his magic to most of its known limits, Marvin subjects himself to an out-of-body experience to search the mindscape for Jack. 
> 
> A/N: Warning for implied/referenced throat cutting.

_I make my way open. I seek the truth. I make my way open._

As he exhaled, Marvin sensed that his breath wasn’t dissipating. Instead it crystalized, each particle taking the delicate, complex shape of a tiny star and suspending somewhere between the beams of refracted light surrounding him. He could hear the change they created in the resonance hitting his ears; he compensated for it, channeling the sounds to the hum he was forming in his throat. The particles from his  _next_  breath would act as counterbalances for the last.

His breathing wasn’t where his focus lay, however; he kept his attention on his hands. Summoned swirls of red and green smoke were tangling around his wrists, tracing curiously over the old burns they found there. The misty swirls sensed more than saw the veins of vibrant green coursing through him and they settled densely against his skin, pushing against it, trying to break through it to reach the power underneath.

As soon as the old scars began to sting from the pressure, the magician flicked his wrists and cast the smoke away from him, sending it out to weave into the crystalline stars. He could feel the smoke create an undertone for the stars’ singing. As the hum deepened, increasing pressure around him, Marvin impulsively began to shiver. His breaths quickened, the smoke quickening its weave in sync, brushing away excess stars to drift into his hair and onto his cheeks like snowflakes. He didn’t notice.

Using his magic like this took its toll on him. He was hyperaware of how quickly his body temperature was dropping, as if he was surrounded by an icy river, but he was only just beginning. He had only dipped a toe into the cold. Drawing his hands in close against his chest and curling the crystal structure in close around him, he inhaled deeply.

“The way…is open.”

The smoke burst from the seams it had so lovingly created, scattering crystal particles in every direction as Marvin thrust out his hands and his mind in concert.

He reached out for Jack.

The gust of wind that rushed to meet him was entirely in his mind, but he felt it burn against his exposed skin, a fiery contrast to the ice he’d formed. Growling, he lashed out at it as darkness crashed down around him, swallowing the starlight. The symbols on his mask lit his way, their red and silver light projecting where his eyes couldn’t.

He saw the recording room; he stood close to the wall, his back pressed against the PMA board. Jack sat with his back to him, gaming just as he always would, and Marvin’s throat tightened as his creator’s laughter echoed around him. He sounded so joyful, his joy only making his image clearer in front of Marvin’s eyes. It was as if no evil in the world could touch him.

As the image sharpened, however, it sacrificed its color, the vibrancy bleeding out and leaving nothing but dark, grim reds and greens. Without warning a flash of dazzling white and blue pulsed its flame, fueled only by adrenaline and already growing weaker. It was collapsing in on itself—a dying star, alone in the dark.

“I need to save him! I need to save him; I need your help!  _Save him!_ ”

Marvin flinched as he heard the long-ago words. He could feel the terror and anguish of the doctor shaking the very air around them as Jack choked and thrashed on his operating table, losing his fight. When it finally became too much to bear, Marvin surged forward, swiping his hands up and in, waving the white-blue star away. He didn’t want to go  _backward_ ; he wanted to see where Jack was  _now_.

“The way is  _open!_ ” he snarled. Again the recording room flashed before his eyes. Chase filled the seat this time, a poor substitute; even though he couldn’t see his face, Marvin knew that the vlogger’s smile never reached his eyes. As intensely as he focused his magic on that focal point by the board and his mask allowed him the view, however, it was whisked away within seconds.

Frustration building at a churning boil in his stomach, Marvin abandoned the recording room and went for the door, hesitating only a moment before emerging into the shadowed hallway. As the door slid closed behind him, Jack and Chase’s mingled commentary drifted away.

As far as Marvin could tell, he was the only source of sound, light, and life in this world.

Unease gradually stirred through the frustration as he slid his fingers along the wall, tracing his course. Each step he took into the corridor seemed to take him nowhere, yet every time his step faltered, there was suddenly an opening that his fingers hadn’t come to, a side hall. As the side hall opened, the way before him became a wall.

The halls were guiding him. They were steering him in directions that he may very well not want to take, but he had already come this far. Who knew how much time had passed since he’d entered this realm? He could have been walking here for days while far, far away, his body hovered in midair in the middle of his bedroom, waiting for his probing mind to return.

He had traveled to reaches of this space he never would have dared to go in his search for Jack. He wasn’t about to turn back because the hallways split in odd directions.

Ever so innocently, his boot squeaked as he made a right turn. As soon as the sound echoed down the next hallway, another blaze of light stunned him, dazzlingly red and much stronger than Schneep had been. Marvin staggered back a few steps at the intensity of it, holding up a hand to shield his eyes, but the light defied reality, shining  _through_  his hand as if his fingers were translucent! There was no cover of darkness anymore.

“I seek the truth,” he said aloud, just above a whisper, holding out his hands to show he was unarmed. The light fluctuated, seemingly in response, and he slid the toe of one boot forward. When there weren’t any adverse effects, he edged a few inches closer and then struck up a cautious, measured pace.

Much like the ones of the past, the hallway seemed to only lengthen as he walked farther, but the light was becoming more and more powerful, reassuring him that he was slowly but steadily drawing closer to its source. He could feel the electricity of it in the air, throbbing into his exposed skin like deep acupressure. It was…reassuring, relaxing in a way, as it absorbed into him. It made him feel grounded, steady on his course.

After an undetermined amount of time, he found his sense of calm abruptly broken as he stumbled over his own feet, narrowly catching himself on the wall and blinking his vision back into focus as his head swam. He took three more steps and then…something changed.

The pressure the light had blanketed over him became like a full ton of lead dropped from far, far above him; he nearly doubled over under the weight of it as sweat rose from every pore and his sinuses clogged. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was panic, but it couldn’t translate to his systems. He felt detached from his body—not only the one back in his room but the one he was projecting here; all strength left and his legs buckled underneath him. He dropped to his knees, feeling no pain when he struck the concrete. He didn’t feel anything.

“That’s͜ ̛it̨…” The approaching footsteps were drowned out by their owner’s mockingly gentle words. “G͢o ͢o̵n̢ d̷ow͞n. ͟Deep̵eŗ and ͝de̴e̶pęr dow̢n.”

Marvin couldn’t even lift his head to look at him as he slumped to all fours, heaving ragged breaths, every one amplified  _and_  distant, and when he tried to speak his tongue felt heavy in his mouth.. He should be panicking; that voice should chill him to the bone, but all it did was offer a sense of tingly, prickling heat, as if his whole body had fallen asleep and his clouded mind was just begging to join it.

“Yo͝u a͢c̵t͟uall̛y͝ ͞th͟o͢ught i̴t w͡o̷uld ͟be that e̴a͜sy̨, didn’t you?” Anti tutted as he crouched in front of the stricken magician, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve ke͘p̕t ͡c̕o̴nt̡rol al̕l thi̕s͜ tim̢e, charmer, and̨ y͝ou ͟ _le͘t_  m͝e! How’s i̛t ͠fee̡l t͡o ͠b̵e the one who wal͘ked rig̡h͜t͝ i͝n̴to it?” After a moment, he pulled Marvin’s chin up, giggling. “I ̧k͟now ̕how t̴o͟ dơ it ͟ _ge̵nt͞l͠y_  too.”

“I’d…prefer…th’ pain…” Marvin slurred, each word a struggle. Anti only laughed harder at that, dropping from his crouch so he could fully sit cross-legged before him. Even though they were mere inches apart, even though Anti was touching him, Marvin could hardly see him. He was putting out so much of the red light that all he could see was his glitching, spasming outline—and even now, a black mist of spots was blotting that out as he strained to keep his eyes open.

“Wel̷l, as͜ ̛it t͘ur̵n͝s̴ ̕ơu̡t…”

Marvin couldn’t even find the strength to flinch as a blade was pressed flat against his pulse point. He stayed limp and still, barely aware of it.

“I͜ ͝was  _h̕oping_  ̶you͠’d say that̨.”

The edge of the blade slid cleanly along his skin. Wet heat trailed down his neck, soaking into the hem of his shirt, dissolving into the rest of the warmth draped over him. Anti talked to him as he worked, but Marvin had stopped concentrating on the actual meaning of his words after some time. He just let the rhythm of his voice and the cuts mesmerize him. Whatever the Defect was saying sank right past his filter and through his subconscious like a dream he was meant to forget. So did the pain; it was absolute  _agony_ , but as soon as his nervous system registered it, it was gone—until the next stroke of the weapon.

Then an alarm went off.

Tearing his knife away from the helpless magician’s neck, Anti swore profusely, his entrancing light shrinking back at the faraway cries. Marvin had no time to collect himself before he was being thrown in a dizzying spiral, warping backward past corners of the thousands of hallways he’d walked. All he could hear around him were shrill shrieks and earsplitting wails as other alarms exploded around him.

How long it assaulted his senses, he couldn’t know, but the last he heard of them was a hoarse, tormented and very  _human_  cry before grotesquely slamming back into his flesh and bone. The crystalline stars exploded around him, shattering over the carpet in his bedroom as he struck the back wall with a yelp. As soon as he slid to the floor, he pressed a hand to his raw, aching throat. No warmth, no blood, no cuts—what the—?

“Marvin!  _Marvin!_ ”

When the smoke of the excess magic cleared and Marvin’s wide, glassy eyes lifted, Chase was standing over him, ashen and trembling.

“You gotta come to the lab,” he pleaded breathlessly. “It’s Jack! Jack just—You need to come see him  _now_. S-Something happened to him, man, h-he was having a  _seizure_  or something!”

“I…” It felt as if he’d been out of this reality for years; everything was too bright, too stimulating, but after several seconds Chase’s words finally registered through his pounding headache. Despite it, he nodded, blinking hard. “I’m…I’m coming,” he answered haltingly, holding out his free hand for Chase to help him up.


	7. Discord (Part 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneep is reluctantly pulled away from Jackieboy’s side to answer an urgent summons; it leads to him making an unexpected discovery.

Schneep had never been one to sleep on his side. Flopping face first into the pillow and sleeping on his stomach had always been the fastest route to the rest he so desperately needed. When he slept on his side, his glasses were always bent crooked and the nerves in his arm never got enough blood because it was trapped underneath him, but it was amazing how willingly he could accept the position after surviving on three hours of sleep every night for the last week.

Somehow he even managed to stay comfortable enough to dream; he had everything he could ask for, after all: a sturdy bed, a blanket and the comforting presence of a friend—a friend who was  _safe_ , who could make sure that he was safe.

He dreamt of that safety, that warmth and love. His boys, his steely Deidrick and his curious Liam, were little again, laughing and chasing each other, ducking around his legs as they played. Maire’s dark, sleek hair slid easily through his hands as he guided her in to kiss him. In the corner of his eye, Chase made a face at them just as his own wife was reaching for him.

The scene changed—there was music, chatter, dancing. Chase performed his first flawless backflip, Jameson and Marvin showed off their hat tricks, and Schneep got up the courage to sing just a few verses of “Footloose” with Jackie as his backup. Jack was smiling so widely that his cheeks were turning pink and Signe was in her pretty black dress, leaning on his arm. They were inside a vast building with a soft and rosy glow, but somehow they were surrounded with fireflies.

Reality crashed back in with an uncomfortably loud buzz and a touch to his shoulder. He jumped, untangling himself from Jackieboy’s arm and sitting up straight with his glasses dangling precariously on one ear. Even with his vision blurry he registered the small, pasty white hospital room, as well as the startled nurse, Rena, who stood before him.

“I’m…sorry to disturb you, sir. I just wanted to check up on the patient,” she explained hesitantly, to which he scowled but jerked a short nod of approval, adjusting his glasses as he slid deftly off the hospital bed. Jackie didn’t stir at the movement. No doubt he would be sleeping off the morphine for a while; at least he would get to keep  _his_  sweet dreams, Schneep mused ruefully as he moved out of Rena’s way, rifling through his coat pockets for the source of the vibration.

It hadn’t been his pager, he realized, brows furrowing in concern as he checked it and didn’t find any messages. His cell had been placed on silent for the surgery and he hadn’t turned it back on, so it couldn’t be that…

The insistent buzz sounded a second time, then a third, and Rena looked up from Jackieboy’s IV, questioning, “Are you going to get that, Doctor?”

“I’m trying,” he assured her in a huff, half-turning away for some privacy and then stopping up short as he was faced with Jackieboy’s personal effects on the tray nearby—among them, two phones. Dread trickled icily down Schneep’s spine as he saw which screen had brightened, but he had no opportunity to pick it up before the one in his pocket took its turn, rattling against his hip. Trying to keep his breathing even, he shifted his reach from his recreational cell to the  _other_  phone.

_“I’ve got a perfectly good phone,” Chase had protested, waving said device so its screen pleasantly reflected the light. “Got the best data package, got all of you on speed-dial…what’s the deal with this new one? It’s only got dialing and texting!”_

_“Yes, what is this meant for, Jackie?” Schneep questioned, peering closely at the gadget Jackieboy had shoved into his hands. It didn’t look like a normal smartphone; it was larger, sturdier, encased in black and bronze metal._

_“Family emergencies,” the hero muttered as he slapped one in Marvin’s outstretched palm. “Silver Shepherd helped me with ’em; he’s giving one to Roxanne too. It’s a CCC—Critical Condition Communicator. It’s only meant for when you fear for your life, okay? If you’ve got time to send a message with text, it’s got prompts for the kind of emergency. If not, well, you don’t even **have**  to speed-dial, Chase; this is  **instant** -dial. Hit any of these numbers and it contacts me, Marv, Jack and Signe. Speaking of you, Marv, I’ll need you to enchant them so they can have unlimited range in the city.”_

_“Seriously?” Leaning his elbows on his knees, Marvin blinked up at the older Ego in utter bewilderment. “What’s brought all of this on?”_

_“It’s been coming for a while,” Jackieboy assured him grimly. “Figured it’s about time I try getting to all of you in time, instead of finding you in a puddle of your own blood. Anti is Prompt #1, by the way.”_

Schneep was already starting to sweat when he snatched up Jackie’s comm. and read the  **#3 – Marvin**  scrolling across it. When he pulled his own from his pocket and found  **#5 – Chase**  on the screen, he spun hurriedly on his heel.

“Take care of my friend! You take care of him, you make sure he’s safe!” he commanded the nurse, barely taking a moment to watch her nod before speed-walking down the hallway. As soon as he got past the hospital’s front doors, he broke into a run, only spurred on by the essential bricks weighing down his pockets.

His comm. vibrated one more time while he was fidgeting, drumming his fingers and yelling at the driver in the back of the taxi. He was afraid to look and it turned out that gut feeling was entirely valid.

 **#8 – Jack**.

“ _Faster_ , I’m begging you! Do you know meaning of  _emergency?!_  Is the definition in your brain?!” he cried desperately at the taxi driver yet again, who exasperatedly shook his head and waited for the light to change. By the time Egos Incorporated came into view, Schneep was a mere lunge away from taking the steering wheel himself. Instead he opted for the door, charging up the front path at a full run.

“Schneep, finally!” Chase came to meet him just inside the door, clamping onto his arm and steering him in the direction of the lab, frenzied words pouring out of him faster than Schneep could latch onto them. He caught the most important parts—“Jack,” “some kind of fit,” “fighting his own body”, and—

“He what?” Schneep gasped.

Rubbing his arms as if to ward off the cold, Chase gulped. “He spoke.  _Screamed_. All he said was ‘Out,’ and I—I have no idea what he meant. Doc, he opened his eyes! He was awake and then he wasn’t and I couldn’t do a thing! I had to call you!”

“You did right, you did right,” Schneep concurred with a fleeting wave to Marvin as he snatched up a handful of tools and bent over his creator, prying his eyes open. For a second or two, he was startled to see just how blue Jack’s eyes were this close. Even glassy and red-rimmed, they were electric. Shaking it off, he shone his penlight into them, muttering, “The eyes respond like normal, but they’re inflamed…He has not been  _awake_  to be inflamed! How did this happen to you, my friend? What were you dreaming of? You dream of the sun, look at it too close? You should know—”

“What is it?” Chase demanded anxiously at the doctor’s abrupt silence.

“Go to the ABOP, Chase,” Schneep ordered lowly. “Marvin, you open that gateway for him.”

“What  _is_  it, Schneep?” Marvin repeated Chase’s question even as he grit his teeth and began focusing a spell, the air before him bending into a portal to the Augmented Biogenic Ocular Plant, where Septic Sam resided.

“Jack’s right eye…has been burned. Go make sure our little Sam is alright.”

With a breathless half-sob, Chase nodded so vigorously that his hat almost flew off his head, fairly diving into the portal as soon as he could see the makings of the pocket dimension on the other side. Marvin’s hands shook as he eased the portal closed behind the vlogger and then staggered back, clutching at his head and very narrowly catching himself against the counter behind him.

Schneep looked up at the clatter, eyes narrowing in concern. “Marvin?”

“It’s nothing, it’s fine,” the magician assured him faintly, his knuckles whitening where he gripped the counter’s edge. “Just…stretched myself a little thin today…Haven’t had a chance to lie down since Chase dragged me here by the arm.”

“He gave me the same treatment.”

Silence settled in after these words as Schneep began looking over Jack’s monitors. It looked as if none of his vitals had changed, but Chase would never be so cruel to lie to them about this and the redness in his eyes was a mystery. Momentarily Schneep berated himself for not being here to witness it and then he thought again. Perhaps it was better that he hadn’t; he never wanted to see Jack in such pain as Chase had described.

After changing some of the solutions in Jack’s IV, he turned his attention to Marvin, who was still slumped against the counter with his head down, breathing shallowly. Schneep’s heart sank uncomfortably at the sight. He hadn’t been alone with Marvin for almost two weeks; in fact, he’d hardly been in the same room with him for twice that long.

“You don’t look fine,” he ventured softly. Marvin’s shoulders shook with a silent laugh, little more than an outbreath, and the doctor shifted toward him, fiddling with his hands. “Tell me.”

“…I was there, Schneep. I was  _in_  there.”

“In where?”

“Jack’s head.” Agitated, Marvin tugged at the hem of his shirt. “I was in there—or at least I was  _trying_  to be. I was looking for him, trying to find some…trace of him. He had his  _seizure_  while I was in there and I…think it might’ve saved my life.”

“Tell me everything.”

* * *

 

“Hkh—hh—hel—”

“D̶oņ’t…b͜o͟th̡er… _t̵ryi͠ng_ ,” Anti hissed again, his teeth glinting in eerie colors against the light of the medical monitors as he smiled, bearing his weight down against the struggle. “No one̶'̢s li͢s͟t͝eni̴ng. Y̡our̨ f͡a͘it̛h̢ful͢ little͝ n͟urse ͜might hav͝e͡ no͠t̶ic̶e̕d but, well…s͜ome pupp̛e͡ts ̡get t̢hei̡r ͠str͟i̸ngs ͠c̕ut t͘oo s͟o̴o̢n̡!”

Jackieboy could only manage a sick, agonized gurgle in response, his fingernails tearing frantically into Anti’s wrists to dislodge his grip from his throat.

“W͝e̢ ͝bo͢ţh k̢n̢ew y̴ou͘r ̵do̢ctor͜ ̕woul̢d sav͞e ͝y͘ou̕,” Anti grunted, bringing one knee down hard into the hero’s stitched side and drawing a strangled whine from him as he bucked and thrashed against it. “I̶  _c̴oun̸t̨ed_  on i͝t̨, cos͠ ̨ _n̕o̵w͜_  ͜w̧hat̢ I g̴et to do—Ho͘ļd͞  _s̸̢ţ̧̕i̧ļ͢l͘!_ —is wa͠tch ͜him͝  _g͟o ̨mad̴_  to keep you a̸liv̨e͘. I o̢n͝ly goţ ̛t͟o see͝ it ͢once, w̶hen ̴he wa̕s ope̡r̡at͠i͞ng ̨on you͜r poor҉ ͠J͡a͢ck. He had Ja̢ck̷'͡s̸ bl̴ood̷ all ̨ơv̛er his fr͡o͠n̢t, he was  _d͘rȩnc҉hed_  in it! Y͝ou şhoul̵d’ve ͟seen ̛how͞ hę c̵ried͡. You wou͢l͝d͘’ve̶ ̨thoug̕h͞t he was̕ th̡e ͞on̛e dying…And he cri͝e̶s the ͘sa̵me̴ ̨w̡ay̶ ̡for  _you_.”

He laughed then, leaning in close, blood from his throat dripping and rolling down Jackie’s face alongside his sweat and tears from struggling. In one swift motion he tore one of his hands away from the hero’s throat and clamped it over his mouth and nose.

“S̵ee, t̴hi͠s͠ ͟is ͡be͟tt͘e͢r͘ ̶th̸an ki̷ll͜i̢ng̴ you,” he explained gleefully, static gathering around him like the darkest clouds just before a thunderstorm. “Be̶cau̵se Schnee̛p̷l̨estei͢n…and Cha̸se͜… and̨ ͡Ma̡rv͟in…s͠eeing you in̛ ͜the same con͢d̸iti̛o͟n a̵s̨ J̷ac̵k ͞is̵ ͜go̷i͟n̡g t͝o̡ ̕b̵e enou͘gh to̡ kiļl  _th̷em!_  So ̧g͠o on, her͞ǫ…”

Jackieboy’s skin numbed where Anti was touching him and what little was left of his cries began to die out. His peripheral vision flickered with gray, tunneling, and the world around him faded to white noise. With the last vestiges of consciousness, he flung an arm out toward his belongings, fingers scraping helplessly against the tray for the communicator that wasn’t there. It was far, far away, at the bottom of a lab coat pocket.

“Too̸ ͜ląte for that, p̛upp͘et.” Anti’s smug words sounded just as distant as his last chance for help. “J̡u͢st ̛ _rel̨a͞x_ …I͡’m ͜s͢ure ͟y̧ou’ll ̕be͞ a̷ble to sl̷e҉e͟p t͜hi̷s off.”


	8. Phantoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certain that he’ll only act as a burden if he confides in the others, Jameson visits another trusted friend and makes a confession.

The scar was thin, hardly a sliver on his hand, and after almost seven months it had long since faded to a more natural color. It was hardly any different than the rest of his skin and yet, by some unknown pain receptors or some jiggery-pokery he had yet to know about, Jameson found that it still hurt.

Frowning thoughtfully as he turned his palm over for inspection, he gingerly dug his thumb into the sensitive skin, easing pressure as soon as he found the right spot to get that sharp pinprick of pain he recognized. It had been a lot more painful when it first happened and, oddly enough, he didn’t remember treating it. He knew that he had; on a sensory level, he’d felt himself putting pressure on it to staunch the bleeding, but he didn’t have a vivid memory of it.

Marvin had assured him that this was normal. “It happens when we’re under Anti’s influence,” he’d explained gravely. “We know what we’re doing, in a way. We’re aware that it’s happening, but we have no influence over it even if we started doing it when we were still in our right minds.”

To the youngest of the Septic Egos, the entire tomfoolery with Anti had always been nothing but a ghost story the others told. He had been born into it, but his actual experience of it was lacking. When the Glitch had caused chaos for Christmas, he’d gotten a brief taste of the terror he could draw from them and from their creator’s community, but otherwise he had been meticulously shielded from the effects Anti could have on the household. After having a few too many drinks one night, Chase had taken Jameson by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

“He’s…he’s always there, Jem,” he’d declared, his voice shaking with emotion. “Always. There’s no way any ’f us are escapin’ him; w-we’ve seen too much, he’s done too much to us…but you… _you_  have a chance to be something better. He already tried to get ahold of you in your first video, when you were a newborn, but I promise…that’s not gonna happen again. I’m not gonna let him hurt you. I don’t know what I can do. I can’t do much. I’m just the vlogger with the f-fake smile an’ the stupid tricks an’ the dopey hat, but I-I’ve gotta protect you. There’s nobody else for me t’ protect.”

It was safe to say that a lot had changed since they’d had that conversation; for one, Chase had very nearly forgotten it thanks to his ghastly hangover the next day and for another, their creator had since proven to need more protecting than JJ did.

Jameson didn’t know Jack very well. He knew he was someone to be admired. Chase and the doctor seemed to think of him as someone to be  _revered_. Robbie thought of him as a playmate, Jackieboy treated him like a mentor, and Marvin…Jameson wasn’t sure how Marvin’s view of Jack panned out, but if there was any time that all of their love for him was shown in its full glory, it was now. Jameson hadn’t come to love him yet, but when he saw how devastated his brothers were at his condition, it was natural for him to worry.

When Jameson Jackson was worried, he did one thing and one thing only: he stepped out of the way. They had more than enough “fixers” in the household; he knew they would only see his presence as an added burden, something that only divided their attention. What he could do to help them was maintain a sense of independence and occupy himself.

So it was that he stood in the Augmented Biogenic Ocular Plant, peering with consternation down at the scar where he had nicked himself on Halloween night. A shadow passed over his hand, dappling the green light cast over him, and he looked up to see Sam had come out to see what he was doing.

Over the course of the past few weeks, Jameson had been visiting him fairly often, even staying overnight sometimes to keep the little one company. Marvin had shamefacedly admitted that it had been a while since any of them had carved out time for Sam and since Jameson had nowhere else he was committed to being, he always ended up here. Offering a puzzled shake of the head, he gestured with the hand in question for his friend to see.

 **“Something about it simply confusticates me.”**  The gentleman’s speech slide had hardly materialized before Sam rolled sideways, twirling his tail dismissively.  **“I’m not _whining_  about it, Peeper, I’m no little britches! It’s hardly a scratch! If it were like any other cut, I’d dismiss it without a second thought, but…it’s not. Even my fresher cuts have healed faster; this took nearly four months.”**

At that Sam paused, pupil dilating in concern as he swam cautiously to the front of the tank. Sensing what he was thinking, Jameson stood on tiptoe and laid his hand flat against the glass. The eye narrowed, examining his fingers for several seconds and then sinking lower to Jameson’s natural height. JJ had always marveled at how expressive Sam could be despite having no genuine face; his entire form radiated unsettlement.

Letting his hand slide further down the glass, Jameson pressed,  **“You see now?”**  to which Sam nodded briefly and flicked his tail in a distinctive slither-crescent pattern.  **“Oh, golly, no. The doc has had far too much on his mind ever since he returned. What with that nasty imposter business and then poor Jack falling ill, I’ve hardly had the chance to share a tea with him, much less bring this up! He’d think I was off my nut to be bothering him with my old pains.”**  After giving it a second thought, he huffed ruefully, hunched his shoulders and revised,  **“I would be off my nut to think he’d care—that any of them would. They’re much too busy to make anything of it.”**

The fidgety shake Sam offered in return indicated that he may disagree, but he wasn’t going to press the issue, returning to Jameson’s hand and, after a pause, kindly nuzzling the glass underneath it. Jameson’s eyebrows rose as the little one got comfortably settled and then curled his tail in close as his whole form pulsed out a vivid neon glow. Tiny bubbles created a flurry around him and heat spread through the glass under Jameson’s palm. Surprised but not ungrateful, he leaned in on it.

Gradually the pain in his hand receded into a strangely pleasant tingle that eventually faded to the background but never quite left, leading his senses into a hazy comfort. Somewhere on the edges of his mind, if he didn’t focus too much attention on it, he got an impression of…Was it Jack’s voice? Not quite his, but no one else’s.

Was it  _Sam’s?_  Jameson blinked a few times at that thought, spreading his fingers to get a better look at his little friend, who was scrunched up tight as if he were squinting, concentrating. When he felt Jameson staring, Sam peeked up at him shyly, earning an uncertain smile from the Ego in return. Taking that as encouragement, the mascot nestled in closer, putting out just a little more light.

Jameson never left his placement in front of the tank, but as Sam brightened, his mind did in tandem. He  _saw_  things—images that he had never seen before, memories.  _The older Egos were clustered around the table, laughing as they played a game Jameson didn’t recognize, when Chase suddenly yelped, dropping the instruction paper to shake the pain out of his hand._

_“What is it?” Jackieboy demanded, throwing down his cards and leaning across the table._

_“Papercut,” Chase grumbled, to which Schneep leapt to his feet._

_“Come, then, let’s wash and disinfect!”_

_“Aw, c’mon, doc…”_

_“Don’t bother arguing,” Marvin cut him off sternly, nudging him and gesturing in Schneep’s direction. “Go on.”_

_“It’s just a papercut!”_

_“Hey, that’s your trigger finger, remember?” Jackieboy pointed out. “You need that bandaged up.”_

_“Can’t we just—?”_

_“No one’s playing until we know you’re not gonna bleed on the cards. Go.” As Chase finally acquiesced, Jackieboy glanced around the room and then sideways at Marvin. “…Not enough for him to be interested, huh?”_

_“Let’s hope not. Like you said, he’ll need that trigger finger for more than his Nerf guns.”_

Jameson opened his eyes at that, unsure of when he had closed them, and found that Sam’s light had dimmed considerably.

 **“Not enough for _him_ …That would be that ol’ rattlecap Antisepticeye?”** The mascot nodded somberly, causing Jameson to chew on his lower lip for several moments.  **“He’s…drawn to blood? Even just a nip of it? So I suppose the others _would_  care to know about this phantom pain of mine—Peeper? You don’t look quite up to snuff now; what’s—? Oh! Oh, as I live and breathe!  _You’re_  bleeding!”**

His pupil widening weakly at this exclamation, Sam slid away from the wall, leaving a murky cloud of red that hovered in his place as he wandered downward. Jameson immediately dropped to a crouch, tracking his course as he shivered, twitched and lurched in a convulsive sneeze-like motion, expelling another spurt of blood much darker than the last.

**“Oh, good golly, you poor little thing! What’s happening? What can I do?! Is this something you’ve done before? What on earth has brought this on? Is it—is it Antisepticeye? Sweet glory, is it going to bring him _here?!”_**

No sooner had he thought of it did the thundering, shrieking rattle of a portal tear through the air behind him. He yelped, though not a sound could be heard as he flung himself to his feet and spun around, recoiling back against the tank in a desperate effort to hide the crimson bubbles floating to the top of the tank. He had never seen Antisepticeye face to face before, much less fought him! Panic churned through his chest, clinging to his ribs and solar plexus with a familiarity that made him feel sick. He couldn’t do this. He  _couldn’t_  do this! He couldn’t—

“JJ? What’re you doing here?” Chase sputtered as he caught his footing. Jameson heaved a huge breath of relief at the familiar face, already scurrying to meet him as the portal slipped shut behind him.

 **“My good sir, you don’t know how happy I am to see you! Something’s wrong with Sam!”**  Chase’s hurrying footsteps faltered and the younger Ego’s followed suit as he took in the expression on the vlogger’s face.  **“You don’t look all that surprised…”**

“I wish I was,” Chase agreed grimly, brushing past him to stop in the same spot he had vacated and leaning down. “Hey, Sammy,” he crooned, tapping one fingertip lightly against the glass as Jameson loomed anxiously behind him. “Sammy? Buddy, can you hear me? C’mon, now, come see your pal Chase…”

Sam barely reacted to Chase’s voice, aside from a faint twitch of his tail. It looked as if he was staring right through him, a thin but steady blood flow wafting from his enlarged pupil like smoke from a cigarette. The more Chase tried to coax him, the less he seemed to respond, until Chase was forced to look down and hide the telltale gleam in his eyes. Jameson noticed anyway, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder and then withdrawing it as a prickle of pain shot through it.

“JJ,” Chase began, clearing his throat with some difficulty, “d’you happen to know, uh, how long ago this started?”

**“Hardly a tick before you arrived through that port there. Whyfor?”**

“Because Schneep was just taking a look at Jack and found one of his eyes was burned.” Cursing under his breath, Chase straightened, pressing his hand to his forehead. “He was afraid it might affect Sam; he told me to come here and check him out but I can’t even  _begin_ trying to fish him out for Schneep to treat if he can’t get to the top of the tank! He doesn’t even see me!”

As Chase went on, trying to talk it through to himself, Jameson was discreetly rubbing his hand against his vest, trying to dispel the uncomfortable sting digging into his skin. It was only when his hand slipped against the fabric and he happened to glance down that he noticed the fresh smear of red against the cobalt blue. Eyes widening, he clenched and unclenched his fist, holding it away from his body in speechless disbelief as he discovered the change.

His scarred skin had reopened. How was that  _possible?_  He hadn’t done a thing to it—nothing that would tear it, to be sure, but the cut was there before him nonetheless.

“…Maybe Marvin can come and levitate him out—or lower the fluid level so it’s safer for humans. He uses his magic to keep his tank full, after all, so—” Chase stopped up short as he turned and saw the other Ego’s predicament. “Wh—Jem, what’d you do? Are you okay?”

 **“I—I didn’t—”**  Jameson’s speech slide flickered in rising anxiety as he looked up, breath hitching.

“What is it?” Chase demanded tersely, shifting toward him only for the other to flinch back, shaking his head frantically. “Hey, it’s just me! What is it, JJ? Tell me!”

Ever so slowly, Jameson lifted his free hand to point at the tank—more specifically, toward Chase’s reflection. The vlogger huffed a bewildered breath, turned to follow his finger and froze. He saw it too.

“ _Oh_ —” he choked out, distress thick in his voice as he stumbled back from the glass. “I didn’t—feel—” He had no time to finish before he crumpled, narrowly saved from smacking his skull against the floor as Jameson dove to catch him, his sepia aura flurrying in panic around them as he propped him against the base of the tank.

 **“Chase? Chase?! Holy horsefeathers—Chase, what do I do?!”** he cried out as the older Ego curled into himself, blood cascading in rivulets down his jaw and the side of his neck.

“Get…Marvin…” Chase ground out, clenching his eyes shut and lifting a trembling hand to put pressure on the new hemorrhaging wound in his temple—what had just moments ago been the old, scarred entry point for a long-ago bullet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's reop͠en̢ some old wounds, shall we?


	9. Infliction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneep and Marvin try to puzzle through what happened in Jack’s head and instead end up having a discussion about how much the doctor blames himself for it.

 “…Then I was being pulled back—or pushed? Either way, I was dragged back the way I had come. I got thrown out of Jack’s mind and back into my own body just in time for Chase to come and tell me about the fit that he had,” Marvin concluded, scrubbing a hand over his face and then peering up at Schneep. “You think that had something to do with it? From what I can remember, Anti seemed pretty panicked as soon as he heard the alarms!”

Biting his lower lip in thought, Schneep glanced over at Jack, eyes drifting over his still form, tracking his slow, even breaths. “How should I know?” he groused under his breath without any real ire. “I’ve altered his medicines slightly, added some…” He paused, gaze falling to the floor for a few solid beats. “…antidepressants.”

_Ringing in his ears, all around him, the ticklish buzz of static down his spine—the hairs at the base of his neck unable to rise because they were slicked with sweat—His back cramping as he bent over his patient, bloodstained hands trembling as he compressed his friend’s chest to no avail._

_Breathe! Breathe, please, please, Jack, please! Please, my friend, don’t leave me! I can’t lose you!_

_“Stress management therapy, antidepressants—A̷n̕t̶i—depress—pre͜s͠s̷ants—We have to depress—An͜t̡i͜—Get him out of there!”_

“What are those going to do for him?” Marvin questioned, seemingly unaware of his thoughts.

“They—they will relax his body,” Schneep soldiered on, forcing himself to pivot away from Marvin and toward Jack’s monitors, indicating his brainwaves. “Y-You see? The mental stress can cause the seizure, the seizure can cause the mental stress…It’s, ah, correlation and causation together. Antianxiety medications will lower blood pressure and keep him calm.”

Humming thoughtfully, Marvin slid down from his perch on the counter, folding his arms loosely. “You think it’ll be enough to stave off Anti?”

“Well, are you certain he was really there?” Schneep pointed out, sounding more scornful than he intended out of his nervousness at the thought. “Could it be some manifestation of a barrier in Jack’s mind—somewhere you weren’t strong enough to access?”

“I’m sorry, what’d you say? Not _strong_ enough? I’m not just some _dabbler_ here!” Marvin protested indignantly. “This is what I was created to do! I did my best!”

“You don’t need to take so personally; I’m just saying there are some areas our Jack may have in his brain that he did not want us to find!”

“Like what? What would he ever hide from us? We are manifestations; we come from him! What’s there to know about him that we don’t?!”

“I don’t _know_ , Marvin! That is the point I try to make!” Schneep burst out, gesturing wildly at all of the equipment before him. “How about why he let this happen? How about why he—why he didn’t come to me for help sooner? How about why he didn’t purge the Glitch when he had the chance or why there is a Glitch in first place?! How about why he isn’t _waking up?!_ ”

It wasn’t until Marvin caught ahold of his wrist that he realized he’d reeled back to put a fist through the nearest screen, Jack’s EKG monitor. There was a cloying moment of unseen tension as he wrenched against Marvin’s grip but when the magician promptly added his other hand to the effort, prying open Schneep’s fingers as best he could, the doctor relented with a harsh outbreath. His hand fell loose as he ducked his head, trying to hide his despair, and Marvin wordlessly squeezed his fingers between his own.

“Is my fault, Marvin,” he muttered as he returned the squeeze and held it. “I did this to him—”

“Don’t even go there.”

Schneep couldn’t help but look up at that, taken aback by how forceful the shutdown was. Marvin’s eyes were steely underneath his mask—even more so when he pushed it away from his face, tossing it onto the mattress next to Jack’s knee.

“I mean it,” he stated acidly, eyes narrowing as they bore into the other’s. “You don’t go anywhere _near_ there. There’s no possible way this was your fault, do you understand?”

Taken aback by this change in his demeanor, Schneep offered a shrug that was more of a shiver. “I…couldn’t save him…He’s in coma because I couldn’t save him…”

“That isn’t on you!” Marvin snapped, using the grip he had on his hand to pull him around and face him directly. “That’s on _Anti_. He _possessed_ you, Schneep! You think any of us could do what we’re meant to if we have a monster like that in control of our bodies?! That’s why he isn’t waking up! Anti put him here! You didn’t do a friggin’ thing to put Jack here. You were trying to _save_ him! Because that’s what you were meant to do. I was made for magic. You? You were made for _this_. You were made to take care of us, to take care of Jack. You start blaming yourself for this and you won’t be able to take care of him now because you’ll just be letting Anti right back into your head!”

“But I was weak,” Schneep whispered, his thoughts drifting back to the screaming alarms nine months ago, the panic and anguish, the acrid scent of blood in his nose and smearing his cheeks and chin, the lightheadedness and spots dancing across his eyes as he took in too little air for himself before exhaling all of it into Jack’s mouth between compressions…The cord tightening around his neck as Anti’s influence swarmed in…

 “Yeah, well, so was I!” Marvin cried, scoffing incredulously. He must have noticed Schneep’s attention wavering because he gave his wrist a near-painful yank as he continued. “Are you listening?! Didn’t you hear what I was telling you, when I was in Jack’s head? I let him start _slitting my throat_. I _let_ him—because _I_ was weaker. That doesn’t mean I’m going to blame myself for that! Anti’s too powerful for me! He’s too powerful for you! But we have to do what we can! _That’s_ what we’re taking responsibility for! No more, no less, and you— _ahh!_ ”

The pained yelp certainly regained Schneep’s full attention as the older Ego lurched back, fumbling with one hand to grab onto the railing of Jack’s bed and clutching at his abdomen with the other. To Schneep’s horror, a dark, thick bloom of color had appeared underneath Marvin’s hand, staining through his shirt as it flowered before his very eyes.

“Marvin, lie down!” Schneep barked, sprinting across the lab to tear through his cabinets for supplies. Marvin had already collapsed onto his back by the time he returned and propped up his knees.

“What’s…what’s happening?” the magician asked in a rasp, wide, glassy eyes tracking Schneep’s movements as he snatched up his surgical scissors and began cutting away his fitted shirt.

“You’ve started bleeding at random!” Schneep stated the obvious, peeling away the sodden fabric. “Have to loosen this to decrease pressure and let me get a better look at—” The rest of his sentence stopped cold. Pooling blood was the first thing to greet him, yes, but shimmering starkly underneath it were green tendrils of magic, tracing their path along Marvin’s ribs and up to his sternum.

“What is…?” Schneep sputtered in disbelief as the tendrils wavered and waned. Wasting no more time ogling, he began tearing off sterile gauze to cover the wound. “What have you done to yourself?!”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Marvin hissed, leaning his head back and baring his teeth in a vague semblance of a smile as he tried to breathe through the pain. “I cast protection spells over old scars…T-Try to prevent them from being targeted again. You remember that kid who gutted me on the way home from a show? Didn’t—didn’t want that to happen again—S’like a bulletproof, knife-proof vest made of magic. Tried to make it that way, at least…Like I said, Anti knows how we’re weak.”

“But there’s no fresh puncture wound here, no—you were fine just moments ago! Why are you bleeding?! There shouldn’t be—” A thunderous, blinding pain smashed into Schneep’s head from behind with such force that he nearly toppled over on top of his patient. Marvin’s breath hitched as Schneep barely managed to catch himself, smacking his elbows against the linoleum as he threw his weight onto them.

“Schneep?” he coughed out, a hint of fear finally reflecting in his voice.

Beside him, the doctor curled into himself, laying his forehead against the floor and moaning. It felt as if his skull had just been driven into concrete. As he covered his head with his arms, he felt telltale warmth soaking through his surgical cap into his sleeves. Confusion flickered through his aching mind first and then—memory.

_“L͞ơo̕k ͡at̨ m͝e͟, d̕o̷͝c̶t͝o͡r͞͠͞.” Hooked nails clawed at his scalp, using a fistful of his hair to wrench his head back up, wringing a gasp out of him. Fangs, black eyes, static—no, no, no, no, no-no-no-no escape-escape-no escape-no escape—_

_“Now…fo͜l҉lo҉w t͜he͡ l҉ig̨ht,” he crooned sweetly, reeling back and slamming his captive’s head against the back wall with a resounding thud. Stars of pain exploded against the darkness, sticky warmth cascaded down the back of his neck, and his eyes obeyed the Glitch’s command, following the lights as they rolled slowly back in his head. He drifted. He faded_.

Rough hands thumping against his back broke him out of his dazed flashback; even now he’d started to fade out of consciousness as the same pain cascaded over him in droves.

The same pain. It was the _same injury_.

“Ahh—hnh— _hhh_ —” he panted breathlessly as those same hands grabbed his shoulders, clumsy fingertips pressing into new-old cuts inflicted there as they dragged him up from the floor and back into a kneeling position. Beside him, Marvin’s wide eyes only grew wider as he tried to lift a hand and point.

“Doc…”

Blinking sluggishly, the doctor let his chin drop, looked down. Blots of blood were soaking through his shirt too quickly for him to count as the wounds earned over nine torturous months stretched open. His neck, collarbones, solar plexus, shoulders, ribs—all bore scars that Anti had inflicted during his capture and now they were all up and running. On his knees, he swayed, ready to pitch back onto the floor, but the rough hands stopped him.

“She-e-eep?”

He couldn’t force words to leave his mouth; all of his systems had ground to a halt as darkness swirled across his vision. He teetered, as if he were on the edge of a very long fall, held back only by distant sounds the others were making. From a long way off, he could hear Marvin crying out in agony as he tried in vain to sit up, ordering Robbie to pull his lab coat off. He couldn’t resist as the zombie easily tore the fabric away from his body, exposing his arms as thin red rivers cut paths down the bare, clammy skin toward the floor.

Robbie tossed the shredded coat down in front of him, anxiously fidgeting, and no sooner had he done so did a muffled buzz sound somewhere in its pockets. The pocket of Marvin’s jeans lit up a moment later and Robbie immediately crouched, pawing at it until the CCC slid into his hands.

“Ames an’ Ace!” he announced. “Ames an’ Ace!”

“Rob,” Marvin ground out, biting back a hoarse sob of agony as he struggled to lift his head. “Rob, h-help me up—Gotta get Jameson and Chase back here…If they’re bleeding like we are…Oh, _Chase_ —Chase’s head—Schneep? Schneep, you gotta snap out of it—!”

 _I can’t…move…_ Schneep tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t form no matter how his lips moved. His heart was throwing itself against his sternum, trying to garner some kind of response, but it _couldn’t_. He was too weak.

 _Anti’s too powerful for me. He’s too powerful for you. But we have to do what we can._ _That’s what we’re taking responsibility for._

The darkness infringing on his vision receded just a little as he forced himself to blink, lift his heavy head. Marvin wasn’t standing on his own; he had Robbie’s hands clamped around his shoulders to hold him upright as he lifted his arms. Without the pressure of his hands, the wet gauze against his wound began peeling away, letting new streaks of blood slide down his stomach.

 _We have to do what we can_. Seeing double and triple all the way, Schneep heaved a ragged, dizzying breath and shifted his aching, bloody body forward. Everything in him was dragging against it. He wanted to throw up and then sleep for— _forever_ —but somehow he managed to crawl forward enough to lift his own leaden hands, smear the gauze back into place and hold it.

Tears of exertion streaming down his cheeks, Marvin mustered weak plumes of magic to twirl around his fingers, dancing around each other, clinging to particles in the air to pry open the portal to the ABOP. It took several tries, but when the gap finally took shape, Jameson staggered into view moments later, struggling to drag Chase’s limp form back into the lab with him.

 **“Doc! Doc, Magician, you gotta help him!”** Jameson’s speech slides burst out as he slid Chase onto the floor, flapping his hands wildly and sending droplets of blood flying. **“Chase’s been struck down with a blood curse! He swooned several minutes ago and his head won’t stop bleeding—great jumpin’ Jiminy! What’s happened to _you?!_ ”**

Sweat clinging to his pallid face, Marvin slurred out something unintelligible just before his arms fell limp and his legs gave out, boots skidding against the linoleum as he collapsed bonelessly into Robbie’s arms.

“Marm?!” the zombie blurted out fearfully, impulsively wrapping his arms around the unconscious magician as he lowered him down to his previous position on the floor.

 **“What’s happening?!”** In their shared panic Jameson grasped frenziedly at his hair, leaving a streak of red through the teal from his bleeding fingers.

“Jamie…” Schneep wheezed, gesturing faintly toward the forgotten shreds of the lab coat between them. “My phone…Call hospital. Call quickly.”


	10. Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the others critically wounded, Jameson and Robbie are forced to take charge and call out for help.

It wasn’t normal for Marvin, Schneep, and Chase to be sleeping like this; Robbie was certain of that. This mysterious state called “sleeping” had always been a mystery to him. Chase had once awkwardly tried to explain it as going dead and then waking up the next morning, but he wasn’t able to answer Robbie’s questions about why they weren’t more like him when they woke up.

It hadn’t really mattered in the long run; Robbie didn’t have the attention span to keep prying about the topic. In fact, he’d nearly forgotten he’d ever asked until that night. Sometimes, when he was wandering down the halls late at night, one of the bedroom doors would be ajar and he would nudge it open, squeeze through the narrow opening and pad up to the bed to check on them.

Most of them were still enough to be dead—Marvin had a tendency to twitch and fidget which unsettled Robbie—but their chests still rose and fell, and sometimes they made little purring noises that the zombie liked. If he’d dared, he would’ve touched them to know if the purrs felt like a kitten’s but the one time he’d tried it on Jackieboy, he’d startled awake and scared Robbie half to death, so he’d opted not to do it again.

This wasn’t that kind of sleep. When Marvin had dozed off standing up, Robbie had surged forward to catch him. It hadn’t been too difficult but when Marvin was slumped against his chest, he found that he was wet and sticky, smelling primarily primarily like salt and blood, so he let him slide to the floor. Chase was already fast asleep, sprawled out on his side with blood thick in his hair, streams of it trailing across his face onto the linoleum. As soon as Jameson had his cell phone in his hands, Schneep promptly slumped facedown to the floor and went to sleep too.

 **“No, no, no, wait!”** Jameson burst out, kneeling next to Schneep and patting his cheek hurriedly. Schneep must fall asleep very quickly, because he didn’t respond and Jameson mouthed a curse that didn’t register on his speech slides as he lunged back to his feet. **“How do I operate this confounded widget?! Robbie, is there any chance you…?”**

Shuffling around Marvin to meet Jameson halfway, Robbie peered closely at the device, his milky eyes lighting up as he saw the familiar icons. “Snap! Snap!” he exclaimed, to which Jameson shook his head helplessly.

**“Snap? What is ‘snap’?”**

Hopping up and down eagerly, Robbie poked a finger at the screen, repeating the motion when it didn’t register his touch. When Jameson clicked it, it worked perfectly, however, and Robbie wrapped his arms tightly around Jameson, earning a soundless gasp.

“Smile!” the zombie urged as their eyes enlarged and cute animal ears appeared on the screen.

 **“What? What?! Robbie, we can’t waste time on this—oh, golly, what’s happened to me?! I’m being deformed!”** Jameson babbled in horror, turning his head to look at his companion just as the picture clicked. Robbie promptly loosened his hold enough that he could glare at him, allowing the gentleman to regain his footing. **“I—I don’t understand this confusticating doodad! How am I to call anyone with this enchanted mirror?!”**

“Pic! Better! _Better_ pic!” Robbie protested in frustration, grabbing futilely at the phone for another try as Jameson skirted out of his reach.

 **“You’re right, you’re right. I need to choose more wisely; I’ll—I’ll press this center button here and—ah! You see that? We’re back to these foreign symbols! Now which is the one to call…?”** No sooner had he asked did a loud trill erupt from the device, the screen flashing with a new notification. Too overcome to cope with the ringing, Jameson gave up and hurled the phone in Robbie’s direction. **“There, there you are! Have it if you know how it works!”**

As the insistent ringing continued, Robbie took several seconds to peer closely at the image on the screen before lighting up as he recognized it: the pretty woman who came to visit Jack. He almost hadn’t recognized her since she was smiling in the picture; she’d always looked so sad since Jack fell asleep. “Seen!” he burst out, glancing excitedly between the younger Ego and the icon.

 **“Oh, my, it’s Jack’s dame, Miss Hansen! She’s calling out to us through the mirror! But how do we answer?!”** Jameson agonized, wringing his hands helplessly as he scanned the screen. **“She wants to…FaceTime with us? What on earth does that mean?”**

“Seen _face!_ ” Robbie stated, quite tempted to roll his eyes at Jameson’s cluelessness, though he refrained because his eyes were liable to fall out of his head.

**“So if we answer, it will allow us to see her…Righto, then, let’s try _this_ —”**

Sure enough, Signe’s image came to life. She didn’t look nearly as happy as she had in her icon, Robbie noticed. That seemed normal for her now, so he didn’t pay it much mind.

“Hello? Jameson, Robbie, where’s Dr. Schneeplestein?” Signe questioned, brows furrowing in concern. “This is his phone, isn’t it?”

**“Quite right, madam, but—”**

“I’m sorry, could you tilt the phone down, please? I can’t see your speech slides, JJ.”

 **“Alright, then, let me have the blasted thing back, Robbie.”** Without so much as a “please”, Jameson retook the phone from the disappointed zombie, drastically tilting it down toward the floor and earning a sharp inhale from the woman on the other end.

“What’s that puddle in the background? Oh, my—is that blood?!” she gasped. “I got an automatic message from the CCC system and I wanted to check in—What is _happening?_ ” It only took a single beat for her to realize what that blood could imply and who it could be from. “Is it Seán’s?! Please, no, _please_ don’t tell me he’s—”

 **“He’s alright, Miss Hansen, he’s in the same condition!”** Jameson hurried to interrupt, clearly trying to sound soothing even though he had no voice. **“But everyone else is in a _terrible_ state; we need help as quick as you can send it!”**

With Jameson hogging the phone and never letting Robbie get a word in edgewise to Signe, the zombie returned his attention to the others, crouching next to Chase and pawing at his shoulder, turning him onto his back so he could get a better look at him. Like Jack, Chase didn’t wake up at his touch, and his head seemed strangely loose on his neck, rolling back and forth like a single grape in a shaken bowl. Robbie patiently took ahold of his chin, stilling him so he could lean in close to inspect it.

There was quite a lot of blood; Robbie hadn’t seen this much blood since the last time the Glitch visited! It was warm and gooey under his fingertips, like the chocolate he only got on his birthday, and the longer he dabbed at it, the stickier it became. For a few good minutes, playing with it entertained him, but once the amusement wore off, his senses belatedly registered something else.

It smelled _good_.

Robbie paused, tilting his head at the unexpected realization and then snuffling experimentally. The enticingly tangy scent wasn’t a fluke; as soon as it struck his nose again, his mouth automatically started watering. After a moment or two of sniffing for more, he remembered himself, reeling back and hunching his shoulders guiltily.

_Kie said…no…_

_“Robbie, you might see zombies on TV eating people, but that’s not right,” the hero had explained firmly._

_“Bad?” Robbie had ventured._

_“Yes, bad. None of them are supposed to do that and neither are you. You don’t do that, okay?”_

Jackieboy’s words had been very clear, clear enough for even Robbie to understand, and it had been easy enough to agree with them then, but the older Ego wasn’t here to understand just how delectable the smell was! Halfheartedly licking at his split lower lip for any trace of his own blood, Robbie peeked subversively over at Jameson. He was still talking with Signe and had moved across the room to crouch next to Marvin.

His back was turned.

Murring low in his throat, Robbie fidgeted, his gaze darting back to what lay immediately in front of him. Chase’s green hair was matted with red, his flesh was dripping with it, and Robbie’s eyes glazed and dilated as they tracked each drop that slid down his face toward the floor. He was suddenly hyperaware of the gnawing emptiness in his stomach; no one had made him food today. Fleetingly he thought of the animal meat he ate on a regular basis, but with this right in front of him, it paled in comparison. This was real, fresh, _bloody meat_ lying at his feet. His stomach snarled and twisted at the thought and a tremor of need rocked him forward so he could inhale again. As soon as a lock of Chase’s hair wetly brushed the tip of Robbie’s nose, he was lost in it. The smell swirled around his head, enveloping him, clouding all other thoughts.

 _Food. Flesh. Food. Flesh. Food_ , his mind chanted, his skin prickling in anticipation as he growled deep in his throat, settling on his haunches.

“How’s Robbie? Is he doing okay?” Signe’s voice barely registered as Robbie snatched up Chase’s nearest arm, peeling his hand open to seek out the blood on his palm and fingers first. _Save head…last…_

 **“Well, he seems to be—”** Jameson’s shoe squeaked as he spun around to face him, bringing the zombie’s head up with a questioning rumble. Startled, the youngest Ego shifted his weight back and forth uncomfortably, holding the phone close as he ventured, **“Ro—Robbie, my good chap…what are you doing?”**

Robbie’s grip on Chase’s wrist tightened possessively, dirty nails digging into his warm, pliable, delectable skin that was ready and waiting to be eaten. Chase’s fingers twitched in response, drawing a soft grunt from him that caused Jameson to perk up.

 **“Chase?”** Hopeful, worried, and unaware of the danger, he slid two steps closer.

Jaw near-unhinging with a feral screech, Robbie threw down Chase’s arm and hurled himself forward, crashing into the helpless Jameson with enough force to flatten him. The phone clattered away as Jameson threw his arms up to protect himself, Signe’s panicked shouts going unheard.

“Robbie! Jameson?! What’s happening?! Is anyone there?!”

“ _M-i-i-i-i-ine!_ ” the zombie roared as Jameson flailed and cried underneath him, his speech slides ablur.

**“No! No, _please_ , stop! _Stop!_ Robbie, it’s me! Robbie! _Robbie! Wake up!!_ ”**

Deaf to his pleas, Robbie snapped and snarled at his face, tearing at any exposed skin he could find. His vision tunneled, adrenaline was reeling through him, all rational thought abandoned in favor of defending his meal. Jameson was no match for his inhuman strength; Robbie could feel bones cracking under his hands as he brought them down hard, over and over and over—

A glancing kick to his chest in the course of Jameson’s struggle knocked him off balance just enough for Jameson to scramble out from under him, desperately trying to haul himself upright as his legs buckled underneath him. Scrabbling onto all fours, Robbie shook himself, frothy slobber glistening against bared teeth, muscles in his back and shoulders rippling as he crouched low across from the stricken Jameson. For a solid thirty seconds, they tried to catch their breath—a stalemate.

 **“Robbie…”** the youngest Ego pleaded tearfully, his speech slide hardly flickering as he lifted his hand ever so slowly, running the back of his sleeve over the largest of the gashes torn into his cheek. **“It’s…me…P-Please…”**

There was no recognition in Robbie’s narrowed eyes. They trailed slowly downward, following Jameson’s arm as he lowered it, fixated on the crimson smear across his sleeve. Shivering against the wall, Jameson tucked his arm closer to his side, glancing timidly between the blood and the zombie.

No recognition—only hunger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You never know what kind of mǫn͟ster hides behind that innocent face...


	11. Visitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Jackieboy is out of the way, a certain Glitch decides to pay a visit to his other wounded puppets.
> 
> A/N: Warning for blood and violence.

The sensation of Jackieboy’s wriggling frame going limp underneath him was a memory that Anti was going to relish for quite a long time. The tears in the hero’s eyes, the tangible fear and the growing realization that he’d _lost_ , were everything that he had hoped for and more. Anti had savored every moment as Jackieboy gradually gave in, weakening with each passing second, the terror in his eyes diffusing into defenseless dread as his senses failed. Anti had impressed images into his mind: darkness, drowning, inky shadows that swept him up in an unbreakable cocoon and then pulled him down, down, down into a cold, unfeeling abyss.

He had shown Jackieboy exactly what he had always planned to _do_ to him, and that alone was enough to send Jackieboy reeling back, his mind retreating in on itself. He had curled into unconsciousness of his own accord; Anti was simply the one to lock the door behind him.

For a while afterward, he’d simply perched on the edge of the hospital bed, his dim eyes raking over his enemy’s still form. He’d put him down deep, though not nearly as deep as he’d put Jack. He didn’t have quite as much power over Jackieboy as he did over their creator—or even over the others. He’d never gotten the chance to crawl under Jackieboy’s skin. It was why the hero was so infuriating…so _dangerous_.

Now that he was out of the way, however, he had more pressing matters to attend to. The others had discovered that their old scars were acting up by now and the Glitch wasn’t about to miss that.

It had taken a lot of time, patience and practice for him to find the right spark in each of them for this particular little trick. All in all, he owed it to the flawed physiology they were cursed with for being extensions of Jack. It was exceptionally easy to produce what seemed like innocent symptoms of stress in them and use the opportunity to examine their bodies…get on their nerves, as it were.

Chase had become accustomed to tension headaches, thanks to the stunt he had pulled; Anti had simply dialed them up to eleven and waited for the inevitable moment when he took one too many painkillers and fell asleep. Anti had hooked his fingers under Chase’s chin, tilting his head back and smearing aside his hair to study his scarring in detail. Leaving traces of his own “DNA” there, the faintest particles of static, had been child’s play.

Schneeplestein and Jameson had taken no effort whatsoever; he had long since become a fixture in their lives. _He_ had inflicted their wounds; his mark was already set deep in their skin long before it closed and scarred over.

Marvin, however, had been trickier, which wasn’t a surprise, but it was an inconvenience. In fact, Anti had been given no opportunity to touch the magician until today, when he had so foolishly tried to reach into Jack’s mind. As the magician knelt before him in the mindscape, mesmerized and malleable, Anti _had_ slit his throat, but that was merely a side quest. He’d taken his time on his work, moving slowly, coaxing Marvin through his hypnosis to keep his head up of his own volition so he wouldn’t have to support it. Instead he’d moved his hand to his chest, slowly but surely digging at the spells protecting his skin. If Marvin’s mind hadn’t been wide open for him, he may not have managed it, but eventually the burn of the magic sputtered just enough that his reach could slide through.

After silencing Jackieboy, all he’d needed to do was seize control over those undying particles of his being, draw them in close to their victims and _twist_. Through them he’d felt the stinging pain as Jameson tore his hand open against his vest, as Chase clutched at his head and crumpled to the floor, as Marvin panted desperately for breath and Schneep doubled over against the floor to shield himself from his past.

It had been _glorious_ , filling his chest with rich, resonant satisfaction. He could still feel that suffering pumping through his blood now, though it had been muted somewhat as each of his victims passed out. The pulsing ache from Jameson, however, was still at full strength, which meant that he was still up and about.

It was about time, Anti mused with a grim smile, that the poor, softhearted gentleman was treated to a conversation with his puppeteer face to face. With a settling sigh, he leaned low next to Jackieboy’s ear, delighted that he wasn’t awake to push him away.

“Sweet d̡rȩa̧ms̴, puppet,” he murmured smugly. “Dream of̶ w͘hat̛ ̡I’m̧ goi͠ng t̛o̧ do to yo̕u̧r b͠ab̡y bro̡the̢r͢s ̡no͝w̢ t̸hat th͝e͞y d̴o̴n’t have ͟ _y̕o͢u͞_.” Jackieboy’s closed eyes creased at the corners and his breath quickened ever so slightly, drawing the grin more widely across the Glitch’s face before he dissolved away.

As he reassembled in the living room of Egos Incorporated, Anti was forced to suppress the natural crawling sensation of hatred for this place. For _so long_ Jack had bound him to this place, imprisoning him here as only a creator could.

How the tables had turned. Jack had been here for nine months now, his helpless, fragile husk trapped in that medical bed every moment of every day. It was too good for him, but in the long run Anti was significantly invested in making sure the other Egos were forced to care for him, not mourn him. He didn’t want them to mourn; that would only break their hearts _once_.

No. He wanted them to wake up, weary to the bone, and think, _Maybe this is the day Jack wakes up_. He wanted that thought to be their only motivation to rise and go to the lab. He wanted their hope to crash down every time they opened the lab door. Then the next day, like the stupid, needy little puppets that they were, they would do it again.

Earlier he hadn’t been prepared for Jack fight back just because the vlogger had called out to him. After he admired the view of the vlogger and the others bleeding out on the floor, he would be sure to make Jack suffer for that.

His footsteps to the lab were entirely silent, but the door creaked as he gently turned the handle. Beyond it he found exactly what he had so desperately craved. Chase, Marvin, Schneeplestein, all of them were strewn about like yesterday’s forgotten toys— _his_ toys, his puppets. Lurking around them when they were senseless and vulnerable had always been one of Anti’s favorite pastimes. Knowing that this moment was of his doing only made it more thrilling.

Keeping his form only semi-tangible, Anti drifted through the small gap in the door. He could sense his static stirring on the skin of the fallen Egos as he approached, naturally drawn to its master, but he wouldn’t ease his control over it yet. His focus lay on Jameson, who had his back pressed against the far wall, huddled into himself, chest heaving as he stared off into the middle distance. As Anti moved into his field of vision, Jameson’s eyes only grew wider.

“Wha̶t͞ ̸do we hav̵e he͜re?” Anti hummed. “J̸u͞st on͘e ̶pawn lȩf͡t in the ga̛m̨e… Yo͝u̷’d͘ ̨th͟ink t̕he othe̷rs w͟ou̷ld ̨h̕ave ͡out͡l̵a͝s̨te̷d you, hmm? Y҉ou͘ ͘k͜now͟ w̛h͞at th̶ey ̶s̴a͜y ab̕out ͠t̴he q̷ui͘et ones, don’t you, _Ja҉meso͞n͟?_ ”

The dawning expression of terror on Jameson’s face was one Anti had seen on every single one of their faces before; he _never_ tired of it. **“Y-You…”** Jameson shrank back against the wall, instinctively drawing his blood-streaked hand close to his chest. **“You are…”**

“S̢hhh…I'̡d ̸ad̛vise you̢ to ̴s̴ţa̕y ͢very͢… _v̛e̵ry_ ̶q̶ųiet now, Muzzlę-Mouth. B̷es̴t if͞ you’r͜e ͘s͟e͡en a͝nd ͞n̸o̸t heard̨.”

“Jameson?” a hushed, shaking voice called out, drawing Anti’s eyes. A phone lay abandoned not far from away from the cowering gentleman, he discovered, leering patiently at him as he crouched down to pick it up. As soon as he saw the face on the other side of the screen, laughter burst from his chest.

“Si̵g̷ne H̨a͘ns̨en̨!” he chuckled, a vindictive purr curling deep in his throat, spewing from the wound there in halting stutters and screeches as an undertone to his words. “I'v͝e ͠just b͝e̛en͝ ̨dying to see ̶you. D̶id ͟y͟ou̴ m̷i͘ss͝ ̢me? O̴h, look̶ at͘ those̛ t̵eary̵ ̛ey͡es…”

“Anti,” Signe choked out, barely audible as she swiped the back of her hand over her eyes. “Don’t…don’t hurt them. Don’t hurt any of them.”

“Do y̨o̕u ͜hones̛t̨l̨y t͘hink͘ ͜I̵’d̴ overlook ͝t͠his͜ cḩąn̷ce? All of̧ ͘my p͢la̕ythi͝n͠gs waiting ͢p͢ati̡en̡tly f̴or ҉me̵, painting t̨hem̢selv͜es ̸m͞y̵ favor͝ite color s̴o ͝t͜he͠y could be _j̶u͝s̶t righ̛t_ ͢w͘hen I c̛ame͜ ̢to ͟s͟ee them! Al̢t͡ho̡ug͢h some of ͡t̨hem ne͞ed _to͡uch-͘u͠ps_ he̵re̛ an͡d th͘er͠e,” he observed, casting a meaningful sideways glance at Jameson. “T̢h̡ȩ ̧r̕e̴st,̷ tho͟ugh… H͞a͠ve you ͞s͘e̕e̕n ͢thȩm͠?” Glitching to his feet, he panned the phone around the room in a leisurely sweep, enjoying how hollow Signe’s sobs sounded through the speakerphone as she took in the full view of his prey.

“No, no…please…”

“Th̢i͡s is͜ s͜o͠met͢hi͝n̴g̛ y̶ou͘ ̢nee͜d͠ to _u͟n̷de̕rs̨tan̵d_. The̡y̛ ̢b͟r̢ought this on ̛t̨h͞emselve͟s!” Anti spat, all pretense of humor vanishing in an instant as he drew the screen in close to his face, snarling at her through bared teeth. “I p̛u̷n͟is̡h them _aga͝in_ a͞n̷d _a͡g̷a͞i͢n͜_ ̧ a҉nd ͢ _a̷ga҉i҉n!_ They f̨o̡rg͝et so _ea̶si̶l̨y!_ They ̴comf̨or͘t ea͜c̢h other, they s̸ay ̧t͘o themselve͜s t̨ha̷t͡ ̛I’m ̵gon̷e, and t̴h̨ey̨ thi̷nk they’re͠ u̢ntou͝ch͠able. They th͟in̡k ţḩeir s̴ca̷r̵s are͜ a ͞s̷tory of͞ ͟wh͠at ̴t͞he͞y’ve͘ ̧survi̴ved, but they’re _not_. They͡ don’t̵ ͞e̵ven sc̨ra͠tc͢h t͜h̕e s͠u̴rface of what ͝I̛'ll ͝d̷o to _b̕reak̷ them_. Because that is ͜what ̕t̡he̵y were̴ _made ̴_ f͘or͝: to be br͘oke͠n at my lei͢sưre! Why do y̴ou thin̢k J̕a͟ck and h͝i͘s mi̧n͝dl̢e̢şs arm͠y of shee̴p _c̵r̷e̶a͝ted me ͜fir͜st?!_ ”

Jameson was now quaking as the Glitch’s voice rang out higher and louder, his rage tangible in the electricity that coursed through the air, raising his hair on end. Anti’s breath hissed harshly through teeth set edge to edge as he squared his shoulders and composed himself, his head twitching brokenly on his dripping neck. After a few beats of silence, he tilted his head in the opposite direction, watching Signe struggle to look him in the eyes as she wept. His next words were hushed, but no less deadly.

“A͢nd don’t t͠hin͘k I'̶ve fo̧rgo̵tten̨ a̶bout yo̵ur ͘S͠eán.” Swiveling the camera slowly away from his face, he centered it on the hospital bed and its occupant. “H̨e’s r̡i͡ght over͝ th̨ere, soun͢d a͜sle̢e̶p. It’s almost p̵r͟ec̛i̵o̶us. Ho̡w̴ about yo͟u try͟ ͘be̢g̨gi͜ng me noţ ͡to ͡h̡urt ̷ _hi̷m?_ ”

“Anti—!”

The Glitch never let her finish, hanging up with a succinct beep and then cupping the phone in both hands, letting his code make its course through its systems and purge it entirely. “No̷w͡ ̨t͘hen…” he sighed, tossing the broken device aside and rounding on Jameson with a rueful half-smile. “W̕hat̵ t̨o do͜ with y͘o͡u? You’re͘ b͠ei̧ng su͘ch̵ ͝a ͘ _ģoo̸d͢_ pup͝p͜e͞t, si̵tting n̡ice and̡ quiet̴l̨y…So much ͝more ͡ _ơbedient_ ̡t̴h̴an̴ the ̧r̵est̛ of͡ ̵tḩem. Fo̶r͢ t̢hąt͡ I͝’l̡l̨ le͟t̡ yo̡u ̷wa̡tch for a bit, so ͘yo̢u ̷c͟a̧n see what you ͠hav͜e to͜ lo͡ok ͢f̛orw͡a͜rd t̴o.”

The cool, familiar weight of his knife sliding into his palm, Anti tilted it back and forth, admiring its sheen under the laboratory lights, and then pivoted, promptly going rigid as he found nothing but a smeared puddle of blood where Chase had been lying.

Within seconds, Jameson’s hat was knocked off and he was dragged into a standing position by a fistful of his hair, pinned against the wall with exactly no chance of movement. Even if he’d been able to, he was paralyzed. Anti’s face was so close to his own that the storm of corruption surrounding him began melding into his sepia aura, shading Jameson’s pained gaze a jaundiced off-green. Anti’s remained black as ink, boring into him as he slid the knife smoothly under Jameson’s vest, ready to plunge it into his ribs without a second thought.

“Wh̷er̷e ̕is͞ ̨th̢e v͘lo̶gger?” he hissed. He only had a moment to see Jameson’s panicked eyes dart to the right before a massive weight plowed into him, throwing him away from the youngest Ego and onto the ground. Razor-sharp fangs rival to his own clamped around his throat, raking at the damaged skin to tear it open further.

Anti’s resulting screech was bloodcurdling, but the zombie would drink his blood whether it was curdled or not. Somehow he had managed to keep ahold of his knife during impact; screaming a manic tangle of curses, he hacked and hewed at whatever he could reach of Robbie’s back, but the world was ablur, whiplash seizing and spasming through his body as he was thrashed around like a wet rag. Robbie was lockjawed around him; he never felt Anti’s blade connecting and he didn’t seem to care as his own blood streaked across the floor beneath them during their mad scramble.

Bits and pieces of Anti’s tangible form were crushed and scattered every time he hit the floor; with each sickening smack against the linoleum more and more of him sloughed away, cracking under Robbie’s weight. The next time he was heaved skyward, however, he inhaled, lashed his arms around Robbie’s torn, gory back and braced. As soon as he struck, he exploded, dispersing into trillions of static particles. Within seconds they drained from Robbie’s open mouth and he snapped viciously at the empty air with bloodstained teeth.

Anti reconstituted several yards away, frame contorting convulsively as it was clawed back together. The damage Robbie did to his body was already gone, glitched away, but his power—Wildly he glanced in the direction of his puppets but Robbie had already spotted him, roaring as he galloped across the lab at him. Wasting no time, Anti hurtled sideways, crashing into the medical bed and making his escape into Jack’s body.

Once he materialized in the dim, silent hallways of Jack’s mind, Anti remained on the floor for several seconds, rattled, furious wheezes shaking through his body.

He’d become distracted; he’d diverted too much of his power to escape Robbie’s grasp. He’d left no trace of himself behind in his escape; without it, his puppets’ reopened wounds would start to _clot_. All too soon, they would be on the road to recovery.

It was a setback—a _minor_ one, he convinced himself dourly as he struggled to his feet, arching his back with a rippling crack to get rid of the last kinks. He still had Jack. He still had Jackieboy. They were the most important pieces, the keys to every single one of his puppets’ hearts.

This setback was just the door to another opportunity in the future. Once they healed, he’d get to break them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was f̛u̧n̴... If ever there were a fight Anti would avoid repeating, I have a feeling it'd be this one!


	12. Coalition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to stand by and let Anti harm the man she loves, Signe takes matters into her own hands and calls for backup.

As soon as Anti hung up on her, Signe tossed her own phone onto Jack’s recording desk, covering her face with a trembling hand and leaning a shoulder against the foam on the wall. It wasn’t long before the rest of her body followed, sagging against it for support as her legs refused to support her weight on their own.

Her thoughts were flying faster than she could process them, her heart quickening in tandem and stealing her breath. It felt as if all of the air had been sucked from the room and all of the warmth in her blood had seeped away with it, leaving nothing but the shivering numbness of aftershock. The strangling sensation of panic eventually coalesced into one horrifying thought:

This very moment, Seán could be dying.

It took everything in her to push herself off the wall and return to her phone, fumbling for her contacts. She couldn’t let it happen. She _couldn’t_ _lose_ him. Her fingers were tingling as she hurriedly texted, autocorrect mangling her message as she hit all the wrong buttons in her urgency.

She couldn’t think straight enough to fix it before it sent; her mind was consumed with questions as she rushed out to the hall and began throwing on her shoes, hat and coat. What time was it over there? Was he going to be awake? Was his phone even going to be on? Would he know that something was wrong?

The phone burst to life a minute or so later, nearly causing her to drop it in her rush to answer.

“Hello?!”

“Signe?” Mark’s concerned voice filled her ears and her chest with immense relief. “I just got your text. I was in the middle of recording—what’s going on?”

“ _Anti!_ Anti has them,” Signe burst out breathlessly. “All of them! Seán, the Egos, they’re hurt. They need your doctor, Iplier! I don’t know what he’s gonna do to them!”

For a few beats all she could hear on the other end was Mark spitting hasty curses and fumbling with his equipment to turn it off. “Alright, Iplier’s at Egos Central; it takes me about fifteen minutes to get there—”

“Mark, _fifteen minutes_ is—!” It was an eternity. Anti could kill them fifteen times over in every minute they spent with him.

“It’s the best I can do, I’m sorry! I’ll take the van, I’ll pick up the doc and get the Host to narrate us to you! We’ll be there soon, I promise! Try—try to stay calm, Signe.”

Stay calm? Had he _really_ just told her to stay calm? Signe wondered incredulously as the dial tone cut off her next words. This was the man she loved and his creations; how he could expect her to be even remotely calm or collected in a situation like this?!  

Sure enough, as soon as the infamous van seen in Mark’s vlogs appeared outside, Signe sprinted out to it as if an explosion were chasing her down a tunnel.

“How do you know Anti was there?” Mark demanded as she scrambled inside and he swung a U-turn.

“I got an alert from their emergency communicators and tried to FaceTime with them, then the phone got dropped. _He_ picked it up,” she explained, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as she hunkered down in the back of the van. “He showed me the Egos covered in blood…He showed me Seán…He told me to _beg_ for them and then he hung up. That was right before I texted you.”

“Well, judging by how slowly Mark drives, they’re going to be dying by the time we get there!” Dr. Iplier snarked from the passenger seat, casting a pointed glance at his creator.

“Shut up.”

“I’m also worried about Robbie,” Signe cut in, leaning forward so they could hear her over the rumbling of the engine. “When the phone fell, Jameson was just going to check on him. I don’t know what happened, but he was attacking _someone_ —Jameson or maybe Anti, but it was silent for a long time afterward. Then Anti picked up the phone. Robbie might not be…right in the head.”

“Then perhaps Mark and the doctor were right to bring the Host along,” a lower voice spoke up from the far back of the van, causing Signe to jump. Her hair swished around her face as she twisted sideways to glance between the Host and his creator.

“He shouldn’t be here,” she stated nervously.

“We needed him to get us here!” Mark protested, a stressed laugh bursting out of him as he rounded the next turn. “And y’think I’m going to take our only doctor to Anti’s last known location without some kind of backup? He’d never go!”

“That we can agree on,” Dr. Iplier admitted, tightening his grip on his medical kit.

“Yeah, well, you forget how well I know you.”

“The Host doesn’t intend to force himself on any of the Septics, if that is what Ms. Hansen is concerned about,” the other Ego assured her. “He won’t even speak a word to them. He’s there to watch over the doctor’s work, nothing more. They will hardly know he is there.”

What kind of protest could she offer in the face of that? “Jackieboy’s not going to be happy,” Signe mumbled, shaking her head as she huddled into her coat against the unnatural chill that crawled down her spine. She hated to think of what might happen—of what _had_ happened when Jackieboy and the Host were put at odds.

Naturally it could be blamed on Dark; he and Jackieboy had once respected each other—not because their morals aligned but because they stayed out of each other’s way, they each intended to run a coordinated household and they had a mutual enemy in Anti. Signe hadn’t heard all of the details, but one of them had infringed on the other’s boundaries and it had led to the Host stepping in on behalf of his friend. Threats were made and weren’t appreciated by either side and by the time the smoke cleared, there were major casualties on both sides and a significant fissure between the two households.

The Host was no friend to Jackieboy and he wasn’t a neutral party anymore either. Hopefully he wouldn’t be seen as just another threat to the ones who were hurt. Jackieboy would be all too eager to come to their defense.

 _Wait a minute…_ Signe realized, lifting her head as she recalled the sweep Anti had done to show her the room. Where _was_ Jackieboy?

“Is this it?” Mark asked rhetorically, leaning over the steering wheel to see the rectangular house looming a few hundred yards away. “Only one story, out in the middle of nowhere…They got minimalistic tastes?”

“Jackieboy has a secret identity to keep; he doesn’t want people know where he lives,” Signe explained hastily as she spilled out of the van and sped toward the entrance.

“Signe, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” Dr. Iplier cut her off, his medical kit flying out behind him as he leapt out to cut her off. “Let us go first; we need to scope this out. If Anti hates you as much as he hates Jack—”

“Can’t the Host see what’s happening in there?” she demanded impatiently as Mark and the Host caught up with them at the door. As the Host ducked his head to concentrate, Signe cast a vaguely surprised glance at the bat Mark held close to his side.

“He’s letting me borrow it,” the other YouTuber mumbled with an indicative nod at the Ego beside him, keeping his voice low as the Host let his Sight work.

“…Two pairs of four, tiles stained and cracked and smeared—Jameson Jackson is standing against the far back wall not far from Jack’s medical bed, shaking violently as he stares into the shadows, afraid to tear his eyes away,” he narrated distantly. “The fear churns through him as he scans the darkness, looking for any shadow out of place. He can hear breathing but he sees no one there.”

“Is it Anti?” Dr. Iplier questioned.

“Jameson cannot see to know. The battle overwhelmed him; he shielded himself, covered his face and was blind to its outcome. He can scarcely dare to move, standing in the middle distance between Jack’s bed and the magician’s prone form. He strains his ears to listen to Jack’s medical monitors, hoping against hope that Jack is still well. There is blood under his feet.”

“Alright,” Dr. Iplier muttered, settling his head mirror more firmly on his forehead. “Who’s in the worst condition and who’s most accessible?”

“The Host can See Jameson, the magician, and the doctor. Chase Brody and the zombie are hidden from him…Jameson’s hand is damaged. Marvin is bleeding from the abdomen and Schneeplestein has wounds scattered over his chest, neck, and skull.”

“What about Seán?” Signe forced herself to ask, the words leaving her throat dry.

“Jack appears to be unharmed.”

“ _Appears_ to be?” Mark echoed tensely as anxiety visibly swept over Signe’s features.

“Jack lies very still in his medical bed, the monitors around him steady. He appears to sleep undisturbed,” the Host emphasized. “There’s no trace of blood or injury on his visible skin.”

That news was meant to be a relief, but somehow the way the Host had phrased it only kindled another spark of worry in Signe’s stomach as she unlocked the door and let the men pass.

“No more stalling then. Let’s get this over with.”

Everything in the outer rooms looked as it should be; all of the lights were on, the air conditioner rattled faintly somewhere over their heads and there were dirty dishes and a pot of coffee scattered across the kitchen table. It looked just as if the others had dropped what they were doing and run out for a trip to the movies on the spur of the moment. Fleetingly Signe recalled the time they had done just that and Jack had given them a stern word or two for worrying him so much when they returned. Then of course, unable to stay mad at them, he’d asked them how the movie was and they’d spent the rest of the afternoon acting out all of the humorous moments for him and Signe to enjoy vicariously.

“That’s the lab at the end of the hall,” she murmured, pointing over Dr. Iplier’s shoulder and earning a subtle nod in return.

The door was already cracked open, they discovered. With a slow, deep inhale, the doctor nudged his shoe into the opening to slide it further. The hinges squeaked ever so slightly, earning a startled clatter from within as Jameson flinched back, bumping Jack’s IV stand in the process.

“Jameson?”

 **“D-Doc? Is that—Mr. Fischbach and the Host are with you…? And Miss Hansen, thank heavens!”** Jameson immediately shifted toward them and then remembered himself, frantically glancing back at the darkest corner of the room. **“Wait, wait, no, step back! Don’t come closer, I beg you! I think Robbie’s watching! He sees you coming anywhere near us and he’ll rend you limb from limb!”**

“What happened to him?” Signe whispered gingerly as she slid past Dr. Iplier along the side wall.

 **“I should never have turned my back on him,”** Jameson agonized, twisting at the hem of his vest as he stared into the shadows. **“I was speaking with you on that enchanted device and w-when I wasn’t looking, Robbie caught a case of the horrors! He—He _fancied_ the blood…wanted a nip or two of it, if you understand. I didn’t. I tried to go to Chase and he…”** A deep shudder rolled through him as he remembered and he curled into himself, shaking his head to free it of whatever terrible memory had arisen. Signe had a feeling she could imagine it.

“The Host and I can get through to him,” Dr. Iplier murmured, which only strengthened Jameson’s head-shaking.

**“Doc, he’s like a rabid mutt! He _froths_ at the mouth! He tossed Antisepticeye— _the_ Antisepticeye!—about the place like a slab of dead meat and—and _Chase_ …Oh, golly, he dragged Chase off somewhere over there. I don’t know what he’s done to him!”**

“All the more reason why we need to find out,” the doctor countered, taking a series of cautious steps forward and faltering only when a low growl echoed from the far corner. The doctor stiffened, glancing over his shoulder at the Host and his creator. Swallowing hard, Mark skirted slowly around the door toward the nearby series of switches. After a nod of agreement between him and the doctor, he flipped it.

Signe’s heart surged into her throat as light spilled down over Robbie’s hunched form. His expression was almost unrecognizable; she had only ever seen him as the innocent, childlike persona he always was…never like _this_. He was hunched over, almost on all fours, dark waves of blood staining the torn remnants of his shirt as they cascaded from multiple wounds in his back. Brighter, redder blood and trails of saliva were smeared over his mouth and chin, dripping into small puddles onto the linoleum—and onto the still form of Chase Brody lying underneath him. Now that they could see him, Robbie could clearly see all of them, thumping a hand down on Chase’s chest and twisting his fingers into his shirt.

 **“Chase!”** Jameson’s shoulders shook with a half-stifled sob.

“Okay…I can see where you were coming from with the ‘rabid mutt’ assessment,” Mark concurred in uneasy amazement, tightening his grip on his bat. “Signe, any ideas?”

“This is new,” Signe confessed with difficulty, drifting closer to the doctor and earning a warning rumble from the zombie for her movement. “We could, um…we could try to _sedate_ him?”

“But how do we get him away from Chase so we can?”

“Has he seemed interested in any of the others?” Dr. Iplier asked with a sideways glance at Jameson.

 **“Myself, briefly, and Antisepticeye. I don’t think he’s noticed how much Marvin and Schneeplestein are bleeding,”** the gentleman answered, fidgeting. **“I was only bleeding after he attacked me, so there wasn’t enough to entice him forever. When Antisepticeye arrived, he d-drew Robbie’s attention away from me…He wanted his throat.”**

“That’s _always_ bleeding,” Signe murmured.

“Well, it’s not like we can throw one of the others to him and swap ’em out for Chase; we’d still have the same problem!” Mark protested.  

“The Host believes their solution may be simpler than they think.”

The Host had been true to his word; Signe had barely remembered he was there until he spoke again. He tilted his head around at his companions for several seconds, letting his silence simmer, and when none of them seemed to gather what he was implying, he breathed deeply, brushing between Mark and Signe with measured steps. As Robbie sat up, on alert, the Host lifted his hands to his hair and tugged deftly at the knot securing the bandages over his face. Dr. Iplier’s eyes widened.

“Host, don’t—!”

A thick splatter of blood spilled onto the floor at the Host’s feet and Robbie let out a roar that shattered the air, lunging over Chase’s fallen form and charging manically across the slick tiles toward the source. Dropping his medical kit, Dr. Iplier ran at him from the other side, grabbing the Host around the neck from behind and hauling him a few yards back, hollering something unintelligible that Mark somehow understood. Diving out into the open, he swung the bat.

“Don’t hurt him!” Signe screamed on impulse as the weapon connected with Robbie’s ribcage, bowling him over into the far wall.

“It didn’t, it didn’t!” Mark shouted in alarm, cursing up a storm as the zombie rolled back onto his hands and knees just as quickly, shaking himself down to recover for only a moment before he threw himself to his feet, howling feverishly as he charged them again.

Barking his own frustrated curses as blood gushed down his cheeks, the Host wrangled himself out of the doctor’s grasp and threw up an arm, blinding golden threads materializing up and down his sleeve, lashing with the force of a whip as he swung his hand out.

Signe could only watch in shock as Robbie hurtled right into them, intent on tearing past, only to find that they were unbreakable. The more he clawed at them, the more ensnared he became as more and more of them appeared around him, manipulated by the reality-warper with increasing strength and speed. In less than a minute, Robbie was on his back on the ground, his knees bound to his chest, arms twisting and turning in vain against the restraints.

“Doctor!” the Host spat, hiding his eye sockets against his free sleeve and thoroughly soaking it. Dr. Iplier rushed to his side, throwing out his palms and creating a dazzling blue glow from them to contrast with the golden threads of reality. Robbie’s struggles faltered as the energy field washed over him and after another few tentative moments, he relaxed inch by inch, blinking in bewilderment.

“That’s it…” Dr. Iplier hissed, lowering his hands as the tension in the zombie started to ease. “That’s it…Just relax…”

Signe shared an uncertain glance with Jameson as he came to stand at her side and watch. Heaving a sigh, Mark let the bat clatter to the floor as he approached from the left.

“Iplier rarely uses this,” he explained quietly. “It’s a…healing field, I guess. Whoever’s within it gets a double dose of peace and hope. Sounds cheesy, but it really works. He should probably use it more often.”

It _was_ working. Robbie eventually went completely limp, hugging his knees against his chest and blinking up at the newcomers with nothing but mild curiosity. Breathing shakily, the Host allowed his threads of reality to go lax around him, thinning and dissolving as he hunched his shoulders.

“The Host would like to request—” he began, his voice muffled in his sleeve.

“I’ve got you,” Dr. Iplier assured him, sprinting back to his fallen kit and withdrawing his bandages. “That was one of the stupidest things you’ve done in a _while_.”

“…The Host won’t disagree.”

As Dr. Iplier redressed the Host’s eye sockets, Signe looked past them to see Robbie sitting up, shuffling awkwardly so he was sitting cross-legged. Apprehensively she approached him, only daring to kneel in front of him when his eyes sparked with recognition.

“Seen…?”

“H-Hi, Robbie,” she greeted tentatively, bending down in front of him. It was hard to look him in the face with all of the blood smeared across it, but she valiantly made the effort. “How are you feeling?”

Robbie paused, as if thinking it over, and then fidgeted with his hands in his lap. “Back…” he murmured pensively.

“That’s right, you are back,” she concurred, unsure why tears were starting to blur her vision.

“Back,” he repeated more emphatically, tilting his head back indicatively. “Back…hurts.”

“Oh. Well, don’t worry, buddy.” Forcing a shaky smile, she lightly offered a squeeze to his scarred shoulder. “You and the others are going to be fixed up. Just be patient.”

“Hungry.”

“…There’s probably some meat in the fridge. We’ll take care of that too.”


	13. Standstill

As he clawed his way back to the waking world, the first thing Chase was aware of was that his right eye refused to open in sync with his left. His eyelid and lashes were sticky and warm, glued down by half-dried blood smeared over his skin, and fresh rivulets were still spilling now, finding subversive new pathways to escape the gauze plastered to his temple. When he tried to turn his head, his neck stiffened and spasmed immediately, sending a shock of pain down his spine.

“You’re awake!” a rich, familiar voice exclaimed, soon joined by a face that hovered into Chase’s spiraling vision. “Can you tell me your name?”

His name? What did it matter? Hadn’t he just put a bullet in his brain, thinking no one cared enough about him for his name? Who was this blurry face and why did they want to know? “Cha—Chase Brody…” he muttered, squinting weakly as the face was joined by a blinding light waving back and forth in front of him.

“That’s right,” the voice concurred, muttering to himself about “enlarged pupils” before raising his voice to address his patient a second time. “You’re going to be alright, Chase. Tell me the last thing you remember. Can you do that? Do you remember anything?”

Oh, he remembered. Singing to his babies the night before they left, listening to Stacy zip up suitcases in the other room—their unknowing smiles as they waved goodbye from the car window, thinking they were just going on a sleepover at their aunt’s—the weight of the gun as the barrel nestled into his hair. He remembered—

Wait…no, that wasn’t right. It had happened, yes, but so much had happened since then. That was a long time ago, more than a year!

“W-Why ’m I here?” he demanded blearily, a shudder rolling through him as he strained to sit up, only for the light to flit away and strong hands to push him back down.

“Easy, easy! Hold still! You’ve got a head injury; you’re being taken to the hospital.”

“N’h—n’h, that healed, that’s over with—” As he squirmed in vain against the hands on his shoulders, memory ever so gradually seeped back into his mind: green, red, cloudy bubbles, Jameson’s fearful eyes as blood dripped down his fingers. Chase’s own eyes reflected that same fear now as he realized Jameson was nowhere to be found in this loud, overstimulating world boxing him in.

“Jem! I—I need to find Jem b’fore…he…” Heaving a dizzy, nauseated breath, Chase let his burning eyes close, biting back a whine as the gnawing agony spiked, pressing in on his skull. It was worse than every headache he’d had since that day and it very nearly drowned out his companion’s next words.

“Jameson’s just fine, I promise. He’s being taken in a different ambulance and so are the others. They’re all going to be treated; we’ll reach the hospital soon. For the moment you need to stay still. Nobody’s dying.”

Though he wanted to protest, Chase’s consciousness was like a dying lightbulb, sputtering off and on for the rest of the drive. The engine noise and the sirens were the only consistent presence, vibrating through his entire body and rattling all thoughts far out of his mind. They only returned when his gurney hit the ground with a clunk and a thud, swerving wildly across the pavement. His bleary eyes briefly glimpsed the neon sign of Elvery Heights West General looming far, far overhead; it looked as if the building were about to lean too far forward and flatten him.

“Schneep?” he mumbled, trying to catch a glimpse of the face he’d seen before as the dimming night sky became a white ceiling with excruciatingly bright fluorescent lights. This was where Schneep worked, wasn’t it? He should be here. Come to think of it, it should have been  _his_  voice telling Chase they were coming here…right? “S-Schneep and Marv…Where’re—?”

“I’ll be right back, Chase,” the voice that wasn’t Schneep’s assured him, disappearing just as quickly as it had reappeared. In response Chase gathered just enough of his strength to lift his head a millimeter off the gurney’s surface to peek at the doctor’s retreating back. It was Iplier, he realized belatedly. Why was Dr. Iplier jogging around, barking orders to the other doctors as if he ran the place? That was Schneep’s job…

Someone was gripping the handles of his gurney, steering him out of the immediate entryway as another gurney was maneuvered past. Startled, Chase hurriedly peeked at the other patient. He couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t need to. Swinging over the side, twisted around the folds of the shock blankets, was the black, satiny edge of a familiar cape.

“Marv?” Chase whispered, inaudible underneath the swarm of doctors urgently chattering as they stole the magician from him.

“Sharp force trauma to the lower left abdomen—”

“He’s going to need a transfusion; prep two bags of O-negative!”

Sharp force trauma? Chase mouthed the words to himself, straining to process the déjà vu that lingered beyond the pain thrashing against the side of his forehead. He had heard those words somewhere before. Schneep had been babbling about them, losing himself in the medical jargon that Chase and Jackieboy couldn’t understand while they stood in front of him, asking about Marvin’s condition. The mugger on the way home from his show…Marvin had been stabbed.

 _My head…Marvin’s side…What is_ happening _here? Am I a time traveler now?_

Was this what they called a stream of consciousness? Was it a dream?

“W̧ou̕l͜dn’t you l̛ik̸e ͝i̡t ͜if̡ i̢t  _we̢r͝e͞?_ ”

The world around him shuddered at that taunting whisper, but Chase himself couldn’t move. His eyes flickered frantically around, searching for any sign of the Glitch, but there was nothing. Dr. Iplier was waving at him now, sending other doctors toward him, and the next time Chase blinked, he was in an entirely different room. All at once he had to wonder: had his gurney been moving underneath him all this time or had he really been at a standstill in that hallway?

Jameson was across the room, his forearms and hands strapped in gauze as he signed desperately to the doctors. He steepled his fingers, visibly trying not to wince as he drew them in tight against his chest and then lifted them to his face, streaking his fingertips over his cheekbones. He was asking about Schneep and Marvin—no, now he was miming a cap, turned sideways on his head.

 _Jem, I’m here!_  Chase wanted to holler.  _I’m here; I’m okay!_  The nausea that had been loitering in his stomach, however, was now rising in full force like a tidal wave building on the horizon, bringing bile to his throat and blurry tears to his eyes. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t okay.

“—need to reduce the swelling—”

“—standard surgery, Mr. Jackson. Dr. Woods is the best—”

_Surgery?_

“Well, is̷n’t ̧th̡at c͡onvenie͢nt? I d͠on’t͘ eve͝n͡ h̢ave to cu̴t your head op̴en ̵t̵o ̡s̢ee wh͢a͡t ma̶k͢es̢ yo̧u ţicķ. These ͝lov̡ely p͘u̢pp͡e͜ts are͡ go̵in̴g͟ ̧t̡o̴ d͢o it  _for͜_  ̢me!”

_No! No, no, no, no, don’t do this to me! Schneep’s the only one who can—please, no, don’t let him—!_

Armed with a thunderclap of adrenaline as panic hit the back of his throat, Chase surged up off the gurney, causing the team to jump.

“Mr. Brody, stay still! You’re—”

 **“Chase?!”**  Jameson was already ignoring the order to leave, shoving past the nearest doctor instead and lunging for the older Ego, clutching at his arm.  **“Chase, you can’t move like this; you’re in a terrible state!”**

“Don’t let ’em touch me!” he cried out. In his mind, he knew that was what he was saying, he knew it, but his tongue felt swollen and his teeth were chattering; he was slurring worse than any night at the pub. “Y’can’t—dun’ let him—this’s how he got Jack! Schneep— _Schneep_ —” If Schneep was here, he would hear Anti’s voice too! He  _had_  to tell him!

Jameson was pawing at his hand, squeezing hard, and explaining something about Schneep, but his speech slides were in a flurry and Chase was already seeing double from his sudden heave upward. He had no time to read JJ’s words before the youngest Ego was physically  _steered_  out of the room.

“No! No!”

“Mr. Brody, you’re going to exacerbate your injuries!” one of them declared in a firm voice as he was being lifted from the gurney to the surgical bed. “We’re trying to help you!”

“No, please—” Chase sobbed weakly, kicking out, arching his back and straining helplessly as straps were pulled taut over his body. “Please! Please, y’don’t understand…”

Did none of them notice the lights over him flickering? Did none of them hear the monitors skipping beats? Why couldn’t they  _hear his voice?!_

“Listen to the̢m, we̢ak͞lin͡g…” Anti sneered, static particles washing eerily around the room before finally taking shape as his worst nightmare loomed just behind the surgeon, giving him a pleased little glance before pinning his attention on the Ego before him. “You͝’r̡e̛ ͘in th͞e ̴best͡ of h͝an̡ds.”

“What are we looking at here?”

“This is Chase Brody, Dr. Woods. Massive head trauma, cranial swelling—clearly a bit of delirium…”

“Well, don’t you worry, Chase. In a few moments I’m going to ask you to count down from one hundred and then you’ll be able to rest while we help you.”

The doctor’s voice was compassionate, soothing, professional—and completely unaware of the demon hovering over his shoulder with all his fangs bared in a sadistic grin. “I’m scared…I’m  _scared_ ,” Chase hiccupped hoarsely, only faintly aware of the wet gauze being peeled away from his wound.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Dr. Woods promised kindly as Anti’s smile widened and he assured him, “Y̧ou̡ sho͠uld b͜e̡.”

As he thought of JJ, of Marvin, of what Anti might do to them after he was done with him, Chase only sobbed harder, trying in vain to shake his aching head. “Please…” he whispered.

“I underesti̶mat̷ed you, Ch͞a͠se. I ͞t͝hough̨t you didn͞t̴ h̴ave ̢any swa͢y ͟o͝ver Ja̸cķ ͢bec̵a̢use of̨ h͘o͜w͝ d͟e͠ep d̛own ͘Į ͡p͢ut h͢im͜. Tur̕ns out ̧you͢r͞ ͡m̕e̴t̡ho̧d͢ of cr͘yi͢n̷g like an abando͜n̢ed dog ̴has ̴i̧t̛s͝ eff̧ect̷s on our f͡avo͘r͜ite b̡oy,” Anti remarked, his tone a light and airy contrast to the lethally sharp glint in his blackened eyes. “Jack trie͡ḑ to͠ resįst beca͝use̷ ̡of  _yo̶u͡_. H̷e͟ ̨tri͠e͡d tơ figh̨t b͢ack! Y̡ou̶ ͘s͜houl͢d b͘e ͝prou͢ḑ of ̢that. It means y͘o̶u’re ̶no͘t as ̸w̶or̴thl̵ess ͟as e͝ith̷eŗ o̢f us t͡h̡oug͝h͜t̵.”

As one of the nurses prepped the anesthesia, Chase’s frantic mind raced back to the moment when Jack had opened his eyes. That was because of him? He was too distracted by the realization to struggle as the straps of the oxygen mask were hooked over his ears.

“But ̶sin͠c̛e you triȩd͝ ̶to p͡ull ̕th͠at s̶tunt, I’l̡l neęd͞ to ͡ķe̕e͝p͠ you w̧ell awa̧y fro̕m̵ ͘y͞o͞ur ̨‘D͜ad͜’ f̴o͜r ͡a͝ ͢whil̡e,” the Glitch continued, skirting past Dr. Woods so he could bend over Chase more easily and listen to his quickened breathing as their faces were put mere inches apart. “T̨hat ̢m͞ea͝n͠s ͡I ge̢t to tu͜ck you ͡in a͜n̵d ͟make̵ s͜u͠re t͞h͞i̢s anes̕th͘es̛ia d͡oȩsn͜’t w͝ea͘ŗ off.” Raising his eyebrows, Anti chuckled thoughtfully. “I̷'̴ve ̷d̡o̵ne̵ ͘this t̴wi͡ce now, ͞with Ja͝c̕k and͢ J̢a̛ck͜ieboy, a̵n͜d i͝t’ş still j̶ust as e͡xcitin̨g! I̕’m sure you̡’re g̨o̴n̨na͞ ̡loo̵k as  _pŗeci͢ous_  a̴s͡ tḩey d̢o.”

The more panicked he became, the more his breath quickened, but Chase’s heaving chest came to an abrupt standstill as he registered what the Glitch had implied.

“Ja—Jackieboy?” he gasped, barely audible.

Smirking grimly, Anti moved one of his hands from behind his back, raking clawed fingers through Chase’s hair with disturbing gentleness before pressing his fingertips down hard against his scalp. “G͘oodni̷ģht, ̵pu͜p̧pet.”

“Now, Chase, if you’re starting to feel sleepy, I’d like you to count down from one hundred.” Dr. Woods’ voice sounded as if it were miles away; Chase had almost forgotten he was there in his panic. He tried to thrash, to scream, to tear apart the restraints and flee, but it was already happening. Darkness was infringing on the corners of his vision, everything was a blur—

“ _W͘ha̶t͘_   _is̵ ͡th̵is?!_ ”

Chase’s failing eyes flew back open at Anti’s earsplitting screech as he tore his hand away from his skull, trembling and twitching with barely suppressed rage.

“Wha̵t have͡ y̧ǫu d̨o̶n̸e?” he growled, clamping a hand over Chase’s face and wrenching his head sideways, drawing a muffled yelp from him. “W̧her̶e ar͞e̡ y͜ơur͜ ͘s͘tri̡ngs̨, puppet?!”

“Chase, don’t turn your head; you need to stay still,” Dr. Woods warned before muttering to one of the nurses to increase the dosage. Chase barely paid attention, his fear and attention enraptured by the storm of static buzzing around him.

“This i̷s̡n’t the mag̛i̶c͢i͠an’s͜ ̶wo͝rk! Įt͟ i͢sn’t e̢ven t̶h͝e͠ ͝doct͞or’s̨, it’s—” Just as quickly, Anti’s bared teeth snapped shut in a wrenching snarl of understanding. “I͞t'̶s͜  _yo͜ur̵s_. You͠ did͟ t͘h͜i̵s to ̴ _y̨o̡u͠rs̛el̡f_.”

 _My head—my brain patterns_ —

It was the reason Marvin was never able to hypnotize him, the reason Schneep requested he come in for an MRI every few months…The bullet altered his brain patterns!

The laughter that bubbled out of his chest and steamed up his oxygen mask was mingled with sobs of disbelief—and  _delight_. The Glitch was silent for a long series of seconds, his expression colder than marble, and as Chase’s relieved laughter petered out, his voice was even icier.

“I͡t͝ seem̵s there ar͡e knots ͠in͞ ͢y̸our st̵r̴i̢ng̴s, wea̶kl͢ing. I dǫn’t ̕h̡av̴e t̕i̴me͡ t͡o ̨u͟ntang̡l͝e̵ the̕m now, but I'͠ll͠ l̨o̕ok ̸f̡orwa͜rd to i͜t later. Fo͜r no̧w͜…I’l͘l ͘j͝ust̵ m̢ake  _Jack_  s̕uffe͢r for ̢it.” With that, he slipped out of Chase’s sight, white noise ghosting over his face and making his ears ring as it faded into the distance.

Once the after-echo in his ears eased, Chase’s tight, burning lungs made him brutally, starkly aware that he hadn’t dared to breathe during the Glitch’s goodbye. As he panted to recover and his heartrate started to calm, he took vague notice of the sweet, plasticky scent clinging to the air he was taking in.

 _Tell the others about Jackieboy_ , he reminded himself dazedly as he tried to mumble a countdown. No sound would surface.  _Remember…Jackieboy_ …


	14. Aftershock

Coming out of sedation would probably be a surreal, altogether painless experience for anyone else, but for Marvin the burn that made his entire body seize up crashed in as soon as he opened his eyes. The lights were bright enough that it felt like they seared his retinas and every inch of his crawling skin was raw, as if someone had spent hours dragging sandpaper over it. The hospital gown clung too close to him, weighing him down on the bed. With every breath there was a sting in his sinuses and he had a distinct, raw pressure digging into his eyes, a headache coming on strong.

Biting back a moan, he leaned his head back against the starch-stiff pillows and breathed deeply despite the pressure in his sinuses. He had experienced all of this before; this was magical withdrawal. Every time it happened, it only seemed to get worse.

These symptoms distracted him from forming any full thoughts about the circumstances of his visit—not to mention that he was forced to adjust to the stripe of stitches that had appeared across his abdomen, which strained and stretched every time he shifted in bed. He had always hated hospital visits, not because of the atmosphere or anyone in particular who worked there but because of his own sense of  _helplessness_. When he was confined to his bed, he couldn’t intervene for anyone.

The nurses did their best to reassure him each time they woke him to take his blood pressure, but since he’d only just fallen asleep in time for them to jostle him awake again, he wasn’t in a particularly receptive mood.

“I need to know how Chase and Schneep are doing,” he insisted, his voice cracking from thirst and sleep deprivation as they squeezed the cuff around his arm. “When can I go and see them?”

“Both of them are still under sedation,” they would patiently reply, to which he simply huffed, shook his head and wordlessly simmered.

After getting through the night with very little sleep and more than his fair share of staring up with jaded resignation at the ceiling, Marvin couldn’t help but be immensely relieved upon seeing the door crack open just enough for Jameson to poke his head through. As soon as they locked eyes, Jameson’s face lit up with that same relief and he hurried in toward him.

 **“Marvin! Oh, bless you, you’re awake!”**  he exclaimed, reaching out to pat his arm and then withdrawing the hand when Marvin shook his head against it.  **“Are you quite alright, my fine chap?”**

“Yeah, just…skin’s a bit sensitive,” Marvin replied, tucking his arms in close to his body and wincing as the movement pulled on his IV lead. As his magic recovered, it always settled in the pit of his stomach, clawing its way up into his chest and then spreading through his veins from there; it wasn’t a particularly soothing experience. It made him feel as if he were being sunburned from the inside out. He couldn’t focus on it for too long. “Tell me about Chase and Schneep. How’re they doing?”

 **“The doc’s going to be taken off sedation soon. I hear he needed quite the lot of stitches for his various ailments. Chase’s surgery was performed swimmingly, though they did say it took him longer than usual to fall asleep for it, so it’s taken him longer than usual to come back out. I believe I understand it, though…He wasn’t particularly in high snuff about needing the surgery in the first place.”**  Sighing faintly, Jameson rubbed his hands over his arms, moustache twitching in reflective worry. It was only then that Marvin noticed the bandages peeking out from under his sleeves. Perking up, he gestured to them warily.

“What happened there?”

 **“This? Oh, this—this was just the result of a—a little tiff Robbie and I had over how to best t-take care of all of you,”**  Jameson brushed it off hurriedly, not quite looking him in the face. His nervousness only brought Marvin up further from the pillows.

“Jameson…” As realization seeped in, his voice fell to hushed disbelief. “Did Robbie attack you?”

 **“He’d taken leave of his proper senses,”**  was all Jameson would say.  **“It’s been sorted now **…** It’s best if I don’t dwell on it.”** With that he changed the subject.  **“I’ve not been allowed to visit Dr. Schneeplestein yet, but I’ve done what I can for Chase. Some of the other doctors helped me give blood to him just after his surgery. Apparently we share a type!”**

“That’s right, you’re both A-positive,” Marvin concurred.

 **“Then I’m pleased I could make A-positive difference!”**  Jameson announced with a wink as he rose and tugged smartly on his vest. Marvin simply rolled his eyes in response but both of them softened after a few moments as Jameson laid a hand on the blankets, not far from his hand but not close enough to make him uncomfortable. **“Get well soon, master magician. I’m sure the others will want to see you when they come around.”**

It was those words that motivated Marvin to gather his strength and tell the nurses quite clearly that he was ready to be up and about. He needed to see his family.

“We’ll get you a wheelchair,” one of them replied, looking him up and down skeptically, and while Marvin had been prepared to protest that too, as soon as his feet hit the cold floor he was forced to latch onto the side of the bed for balance as his legs buckled, muscles crying out against the movement. Apparently standing wasn’t an option, he conceded, mumbling self-conscious thanks as he fairly collapsed into the chair they provided and one of the porters only gave him a knowing smile.

The trip to Chase’s room was a long and bumpy one, given that Marvin’s stomach turned the opposite direction of the wheelchair as the porter was forced to guide him around various obstacles. As soon as the door swung open and he was able to lay eyes on Chase, however, all of his own discomfort melted away. Emotion swept over him.

Chase looked…young, too young to be here in this situation, and yet it was far too familiar. The last time Marvin had seen Chase like this, it was just after…

After.

Taking a deep breath to push away those thoughts, he scooted his chair in far enough to catch the doctor’s attention.

“Well, hello there! Judging by the matching green hair, I expect you’re a friend of the family?” he quipped as greeting. Marvin only spared him a wry smile for a moment before retraining his attention on Chase.

“I am family,” he answered softly as he was driven to the side of the bed. He could understand Jameson’s urge for contact now; it took everything in him to keep his hands wrapped around the arms of the wheelchair and not around Chase’s limp fingers that were curled gently over the sheets laid around him.

“You’ll be happy to know that he’s making a fine recovery,” the doctor promised. “He should be waking up any time now. There are a few more blood transfusions he needs that he’ll have to wait on until later this evening and then—”

“Why does he have to wait?”

The doctor paused, clearly not accustomed to being interrupted. “Well, that’s when our blood bank is going to be restocked.”

“No, he shouldn’t have to wait,” Marvin retorted, lifting his eyes from the younger Ego a second time. “He’s A-positive and I’m O-negative. I’ll give it to him.”

“If I’m not mistaken, you just had a blood transfusion yourself,” the porter protested, to which Marvin gave her a pointed glance.

“Yeah, I did, and now I’m going to make sure Chase gets the same. Jameson just gave him some, didn’t he? So he just needs a top-up until tonight. You have my consent and all, so let me do this for him. I’m gonna do what I can to help.”

The doctor seemed fairly reluctant about it, but Marvin could tell he was breaking and persisted until a nurse finally came in to set up the equipment. The wheelchair turned out to be even better for him than he’d expected; he could just relax while the blood went its way.

“…Marv…?”

Even though he was meant to stay still, Marvin couldn’t help but twist around in his chair at the soft sound of his name. “Chase, are you okay?” he demanded impulsively. It was a stupid question, of course, but Chase didn’t seem to notice, blinking languidly like a cat that had just woken up from a nap in a sunny spot, though he looked decidedly more confused.

“Marv…?” he repeated groggily, staring at him for several seconds before his glazed eyes drifted down to their arms, side by side, and his voice shot skyward in volume. “Marv! You…you have two hands!”

For the first time in what could very well have been weeks, genuine laughter burst out of the magician at that. “That’s right, Chase, I do.”

“No, really, you have two hands!”

“When have I ever had any less?”

“Well, I thought you would have…paws…Four or five of ’em…y’know? So you can be a real kitty!” Biting his lip to hide his grin, Marvin opened his mouth to answer, but Chase went on before he could, gasping in awe. “Lookit, lookit our  _blood!_  Are we bein’ harveysted? Harvey…sted.  _Harvested_. Are we bein’ harvested?”

“No, no, sweetheart,” the older nurse who was checking his monitors replied with a light laugh. “You’re getting a blood transfusion.”

“Tell the aliens to take the kidneys last!” he hollered after her as she turned to leave, tipping his head back and cackling for no apparent reason. “I—I need those to breathe!”

“Okay, okay, Chase, you need to settle down,” Marvin soothed kindly, holding out his hand as Chase’s gleeful giggles petered out into large gasps. “You’re going to need lots of rest, okay? You should just close your eyes and—”

“No. No, no…” Chase slurred, his dopey smile lingering as he peeked back up at him. “Better not do that! Then I’ll end up like Jackieboy!”

Marvin faltered at that, his hand falling back to his side. “You mean Jack,” he reminded him, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Him either! I don’t wanna end up like him either!” As he started to calm slightly, Chase’s words became less and less pronounced, but Marvin could still catch what he was saying if he leaned forward in his chair. “Jackieboy’s like…Sleeping Beauty. He’s completely out, just like Jack. Maybe Signe wouldn’t mind kissin’ him awake. Maybe she could do it twice an’  _both_  of ’em could wake up!”

“Chase, what are you saying?” Marvin asked sharply, drawing a slight jump from him.

“Shh, shhh…” Chase hushed him, abruptly serious as he clumsily tried to reach out and cover his mouth. “S’gonna be alright, Marv. We’re gonna get ’em back…I can help. Anti said I could help them.”

“Anti?! Chase, what’re you—?” Marvin’s question never fully made it out of his mouth before Chase heaved a drowsy sigh and slumped back into his pillows, nodding off just as quickly as he’d awoken. Marvin could only gape at him, speechless.

It had to be nothing but drug-induced ramblings. There was no way he would have somehow encountered Anti and found out that Jackieboy was in Jack’s condition. That just wasn’t…possible…

He needed to talk to Schneep about this.

As eager as he had been to give Chase his blood, now that he was armed with these new questions he was even more impatient to be finished with it and order the nurse to wheel him down to Schneep’s room. By the time he got there, he was almost ready to leap out of his wheelchair and crawl his way down the hallway, but that inclination was stifled as soon as he saw a pair of policemen loitering outside Schneep’s room, talking with a nurse.

“He’s only just woken, detectives; he needs to rest before you can submit him to any kind of invasive questions!” she was protesting as Marvin and his porter drew near.

“I’m sorry, what is this?” he asked nervously, leaning forward as they turned to face him. “I’m Marvin, I’m Schneep’s brother…what d’you mean, ‘submit him to questions’?”

“Marvin, I’m Detective Davis and this is my partner, Detective Prescott. We’re currently investigating the murder of a nurse named Rena Hudson, who worked the third floor,” the taller of the detectives explained.

His throat going as dry as cotton, Marvin glanced between them. “You think…Schneep was part of it?”

“Now we’re not saying that. We don’t have anything conclusive at the moment; we’re just performing interviews,” Prescott assured him. “Dr. Schneeplestein was the one who assigned Nurse Hudson to her last patient, Jackieboy Man, and we need to ask him about the circumstances of that—”

“What? D-Did you say Jackieboy Man is a patient here?” the magician snapped, disbelief and fear prickling slowly down each vertebra in his spine.

“Yes, he was admitted about three days ago,” the nurse next to the detectives ventured gingerly. “Dr. Schneeplestein performed his surgery and then set him up for recovery. Everything seemed to be in order.”

“Later that night, Nurse Hudson was discovered dead in the nearby supply closet and Jackieboy Man had lapsed into a coma. Clearly this isn’t a coincidence,” Detective Davis concluded.

Marvin had already started to zone out, taken up with processing his shock as these words sank in. Jackieboy was somewhere in this hospital right now,  _comatose_. He had fallen under Anti’s power. The very thought made his skin crawl and brought a burn to his eyes, but his realizatons were already racing ahead. He’d been helpless, left alone with a clueless nurse who couldn’t have done anything to protect him, and Schneep had come back to the house and  _hadn’t_ _said a word_.

The rational part of his mind tried to pipe up that Schneep had been pulled away from Jackieboy because Chase had called him about Jack—but the rational part of his mind wasn’t in charge right now.

Lunging out of his wheelchair and sweeping a hand out toward the wall as he tilted off balance, Marvin shoved past the startled nurse and the two detectives and slammed the door open, causing Schneep and Dr. Iplier, who was sitting beside him, to jump.

“You  _left_  him, Schneep!” he barked, pushing himself off the doorframe toward the edge of the bed. “You operated on him and then you left him and you didn’t even tell us?!”

“What?” Schneep gasped, reeling back in his bed as Marvin leaned on the bed, looming over him. “M-Marv, what are you—?”

“ _Jackieboy!_  Did you think that we didn’t need to know? Did you think that he’d heal up before you would ever have to tell us or were you just not  _thinking_  at all?! I can’t believe you! How could you do that to him, to us?!”

“Whoa, Marvin, you need to calm it down!” Dr. Iplier warned, rising from his chair and holding out his hands placatingly. “I don’t know what’s happened here, but you can—”

“Shut up! This doesn’t have anything to do with you, so keep out of it!”

Unadulterated horror had struck Schneep’s face and the urgent trilling of his heart monitor was rising with every moment as he clutched at the sheets and stuttered, “I—I didn’t—Marvin, I wasn’t trying to—there wasn’t any time to—”

“Don’t give me that!” Marvin snarled, seizing a fistful of the blankets and tearing them out of his grasp. “There was  _plenty_  of time for you to tell me after you checked up on Jack, but it was time you spent crying about how everything was your fault! Well, guess what  _is_  your fault?! Jackieboy’s in a coma!”

“ _What?!_ ”

Panting harshly, Marvin did his best to reel in his rage enough that he could avoid a breakdown. “Yeah,” he spat, squaring his shoulders. “Jackieboy’s in a coma. Anti got to his room, he killed his nurse, and he put him in a coma on  _your_  watch!”

“Rena…?” Schneep whispered hoarsely, tears spilling down his ashen face unnoticed as he shook his head violently. “No—no, no, no, no, it’s not—” Choking on air, he buried his face in his hands, trying to make himself as small as possible. “It’s not true, it’s not true, it  _can’t_  be—not her, not  _Jackie_ —!”

“It’s true! Unlike you, I actually try to face the truth when it matters, but you  _kept it_  from us!” the magician shouted, grabbing at his ankles to get his attention. “ _Look at me!_  You kept it from us and you  _abandoned_  him and now look what Anti’s done—what you let him do!”

“No,  _no!_ ” Schneep wailed, his monitors screaming at him to no avail. “Please, I’m  _sorry_ , I didn’t—!”

“Enough!”

A sudden burst of light forced Marvin to flinch away from Schneep’s bed, stumbling over his own feet and landing hard on the floor. Gasping for breath, he looked up as Dr. Iplier’s calming field of magic cascaded over the room. When it reached him, his breath came a bit easier and the fury in his chest subsided into a hard, grim ache. Schneep’s anguished cries faded to more muffled sobs and his monitors quieted just in time for the nurses to burst into his room and check his vitals.

“Marvin. Calm… _down_ ,” Dr. Iplier commanded, his tone and the pressure of his magic leaving no room for argument.

Inhaling deeply, Marvin accepted the hand that one of the nurses offered him, casting a cold look in Schneep’s direction as the doctor lifted his tear-streaked face from his hands, staring at him with grief, pleading—and a touch of fear.

“You better heal up fast,” the magician growled, unrelenting. “For  _Jackie’s_  sake.”


	15. Intrusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wracked with guilt and grief over the ones he couldn’t save, Schneep tries in vain to escape his own mind.
> 
> A/N: Warning for PTSD and vivid flashbacks of torture.

“Are you sure you will be okay, Chase?” Schneep questioned again, gripping the younger Ego’s shoulder with a tightness that betrayed just how worried he was. He and Marvin were both being discharged today, but Chase was set to stay at the hospital for another two days thanks to his operation.

 “I’ll be just fine, doc, so long as Anti decides I’m not worth the effort of trying again,” the vlogger huffed in reply to his question, to which Schneep’s hand only tightened further and Marvin exhaled harshly through his teeth, shaking his head grimly.

“Don’t even joke like that,” he muttered, causing Chase’s eyes to fall guiltily toward the sheets covering his knees.

“You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll be watching him to make sure everything’s fine,” Dr. Iplier promised briefly, glancing up from the clipboard in his hands as he perched on the chair in the corner.

“Yes, but p-perhaps we should take this away,” Schneep advised, reaching for the clipboard, “so that you can watch him very closely, _without_ distractions.”

“If need be, the Host will remain with the doctor and Mr. Brody so as to reassure Schneeplestein that all remains well,” the voice from the door startled them. As they turned, the Host tilted his head down in the direction of Jameson, who stood beside him.

 **“Marvin, Dr. Schneeplestein…Mr. Fischbach is waiting outside in the automobile,”** he ventured, glancing between the two of them cautiously and impulsively starting to wring his hands before remembering himself and wincing.

“I would appreciate it if you did stay, Host, but…only if you want to,” Schneep answered gingerly, glancing down for a moment to refold the edge of Chase’s blankets.

If he had a choice, the only time he would leave Chase’s side would be to go to Jackieboy’s, but the two detectives investigating Rena’s death had made it infinitely clear that he wasn’t allowed to see the comatose hero, thanks to his involvement in what had happened.

_They say they have no suspects yet they treat me like I will hurt Jackie if I go anywhere near him…_

But they were right. He _had_ hurt him; if the warnings of the police hadn’t been enough, Marvin’s furious rant had been even plainer to understand. It was probably for the best that he was barred from doing any more damage to him or to the crime scene.

Chase was talking to him, he realized abruptly, breaking out of his thoughts.

“You need to go home and check on Jack,” he reminded him, gently prying away the doctor’s hand and squeezing it briefly. “He needs you more than I do. I learned firsthand that we can get through to him. You gotta try, okay? Maybe he’ll listen to you like he listened to me!”

Schneep didn’t have much hope of that, but he forced a smile and conceded, “Maybe,” for the sake of keeping that small spark of hope in Chase’s eyes. As he drifted out of the room after Marvin and Jameson, the Host took his place beside Chase’s bed. It should have made him feel more reassurance than it did, but it couldn’t overpower the despair gnawing at his stomach.

Sure enough, Mark had the van rumbling at the curb just where Jameson had said it would be. It didn’t escape Schneep’s notice that Marvin pointedly took the passenger seat up front rather than sit in the back with him and JJ. Judging by the concern lingering in the gentleman’s furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips, he hadn’t overlooked it either.

They didn’t think about it for very long, however; the pain and discomfort brought about by strapping seatbelts over stitched and tender skin was enough to distract them for most of the journey home. Mark did his best to coax some kind of conversation out of them, but Schneep simply leaned back in his seat and tuned him out and there was no safe way for Mark to read Jameson’s speech slides through the rearview mirror, so eventually he fell silent and focused on the road.

The sight of Egos Incorporated should have inspired some sense of relief in them. Somehow it seemed…harsher, colder than it had before, and they themselves were colder and harsher for it. As Schneep and Marvin both slid out of their seats to stand on the dusty ground, the magician’s arm happened to collide with his shoulder, drawing a collective surge of pain from the scattered wounds there and a yelp from his throat, followed immediately by another as Marvin grabbed too roughly at his arm to help him regain his balance.

“Sorry, sorry,” he spat, his voice just as rough as his grip, though judging by how he glanced away a moment later, that was unintentional.

“Is fine.” With that Schneep whisked his arm away, holding it tight against his side as he hurried down the path toward the door, leaving the others behind. He hadn’t thanked Mark for the ride, he realized abruptly as he fumbled with his keys. Hopefully Jameson, polite as he was, would thank him for the group.

“Well, hello!” Signe called kindly as he stepped inside, laying down the plates she’d just gotten out of the cabinets to approach and carefully hug him.

Closing his eyes, Schneep let himself settle into her embrace and breathe freely for the first time since he’d learned about Jackieboy. Signe had superpowers entirely her own—the ability to drain almost all stress out of his body with her touch. It was no wonder Jack adored her.

“Welcome home,” she murmured against his ear before withdrawing. “I was just getting some plates out for dinner—Robbie already started eating cos I knew you wouldn’t mind—Oh! Marvin, I’m glad to see you! Hi, Jameson! How are you feeling?”

As she greeted the others, Schneep wandered forward into the kitchen, a brief, rueful smile lighting his face when he found Robbie squatting in the far corner with his meal.

A plate, by definition, was meant to be something that kept the food contained in one area, but Robbie had never been particularly big on plates. The dish had been shoved against the wall as soon as he picked up his food, clutching the slab of meat in both hands and tearing off large chunks with his teeth, growling contentedly and swiping his tongue at the various juices as they spilled down his face.

It was almost cute in a disturbing kind of way, Schneep mused, shaking his head at him. Robbie happened to glance up in time to see him and beamed.

“’ello, Sheep!” he exclaimed as greeting, wobbling his head back and forth in a wave since his hands were occupied. He repeated the motion as Jameson unsuspectingly moved farther into the room. “’ello, Ames!”

As soon as he laid eyes on the zombie, Jameson promptly shrank back, all the color draining from his face as he clutched his hands protectively against his chest. **“Oh, I-I—my apologies, I didn’t know you were eating here. Don’t—I’ll be on my way,”** he stammered out, spinning on his heel and rushing the opposite direction. Robbie stared after him, confusion clear on his face, and then his eyes glazed over as he lost his train of thought, returning his attention to his meal.

“Wh—Jamie, where are you going?” Schneep inquired, just as bewildered by his nervousness as Robbie was.

 **“I was thinking I’d visit Sam, see if the little peeper’s bounced back from his ailment,”** Jameson answered hastily, looking expectantly to Marvin. **“If it wouldn’t cause you too much pain, of course…”**

“It’s no problem,” Marvin assured him, squaring his shoulders. His solid second of hesitance, however, said otherwise, and Jameson’s speech slides flickered preemptively as he held up his hands placatingly.

**“I, ah, I can visit him later if—”**

“Marvin, you might not want to strain yourself this soon,” Signe added, glancing between the two of them in concern.

“I can _do_ it,” Marvin countered pointedly, keeping his eyes trained on the hallway in front of him as he swirled his hands, grasping at air for several frustrated seconds until the portal finally tore open for him. It sputtered and waned for several beats before Marvin steadied his stance, breathing deeply as sweat broke out along his hairline. “C’mon… _c’mon_ …”

As soon as it stabilized, Jameson tipped his hat and leapt inside. **“Much obliged! Don’t feel any need to fetch me; recover your strength!”** he ventured as Marvin eased the portal closed, stumbling back into Signe’s steadying hands.

“You should have some dinner and then lie down,” she advised somberly, to which Marvin nodded, wiping the back of his sleeve over his forehead before the sweat ran into his eyes.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m feeling big on dinner tonight…I’ll be in my room.”

As Signe guided Marvin away to get settled, Schneep swallowed hard, hugging his arms lightly around himself as he became fully aware of the silence, broken only by Robbie’s muffled noises from the corner. Ever since he’d returned, these moments had become the hardest—the moments when the others left him, when all of the intrusive thoughts were given free reign and his full attention.

_Fe͝e͠ling ign̢o͠r̴ed?_

It didn’t help that those thoughts took on the voice of a certain Glitch. Heaving a heavy, anxiety-ridden breath, he threw himself in the direction of the lab, each step quicker than the last.

Jack. He needed Jack. Whenever the rest of the world became too overwhelming, Jack was there. He was there for his fans, he was there for his friends, he was there for his Egos. He had to be.

As soon as he burst into the lab and made it to Jack’s bedside, his breath caught. Jack looked entirely the same as he had when they were pulled away from him two days ago. Had it really been two days? It felt like a lifetime, but Jack was here just the same, though Signe had pulled his blankets up to from his waist to his neck so he would be warmer. Out of breath and unsure of why, Schneep sank into the chair beside him, eyes fixed on his still, scruffy features. When had old tear streaks marred his creator’s skin? It seemed Signe hadn’t noticed them while she was watching over Jack in their absence…

“I…left you, Jack.” Was that really his voice? It was coarse, shaky, devoid of all hope. He didn’t stop, though; Chase’s words that Jack might hear him were still fresh in his mind. “…I left you for Jackieboy and what happens? You have terrible seizure, traumatize Chase. Then I leave Jackieboy for you. What happens? Poor Rena is killed and Jackie—Jackie is—” His forehead gently hit the rail on the edge of Jack’s bed as he leaned forward, sobbing softly. “Why can’t I be anywhere I’m _meant_ to be? If I had reached you sooner nine months ago, this never would’ve happened.”

Jack didn’t have any answers for him. Schneep hadn’t really expected them anyway; there was no good answer for that question. The only answer was that it was his own fault.

 _N̴eve̛r fa̴s̶t ͠enoug͟h. Neve̴r stron͝g͡ en̨ough.͢ Never̶ sma͡rt en̷ough._ _Can͠ y̷o̴u do̴_ a͝ny͘th͢ing _͡rig͝ht?_

“Rena was…the one who brought me coffee,” he whispered, his voice now thick where it had been hoarse. “It was always perfect temperature, no matter when she poured it…She says she has magic over it. She spoke at Peter’s funeral…You remember Peter, yes? My accountant, the one I ki…the one I lost. She had big crush on him. I used to tease her for it. Now maybe they…are together.”

The bedsprings creaked.

Jerking his head up, Schneep stared with wide, tear-bright eyes at Jack, unblinking, and his heart lurched as he saw Jack twitch a second time, however slight.

“Jack? Jack, can you hear me?” he gasped, scooting to the edge of his seat and straining his ears. Was he imagining…? No, Jack’s breathing _had_ shifted! It was higher, faster, and his face was creasing as if in pain. “What is it, Jack? Are you—let me get your pulse, let Dr. Schneeple find out what’s the matter!” Lunging to his feet, Schneep cast a hasty glance at the monitors as Jack’s heartrate staggered and then tore away the blankets so he could find Jack’s hand.

What he found _in_ Jack’s hand made him stop up short.

Laid methodically under Jack’s limp, twitching fingers was what looked like a little yarn doll. Muttering a baffled curse, Schneep carefully cupped Jack’s hand in his own and moved it aside so he could get a good look at it. As soon as he did, he wished that he hadn’t. The little thing was almost completely identical to Jack—hospital gown, thick brown hair and scruffy beard, and dark shadows under its eyes…which had been stitched shut with crimson thread.

Trying in vain to suppress a shiver, Schneep couldn’t resist hastily glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was immediately behind him before taking an unsteady breath, turning his eyes to the rest of the lab. No one was here with them, he could see for certain, but in his pan around the room he noticed something small lying in the exact center of the cot he kept in the corner to use on late nights.

Every step dragged his heart lower and lower into the pit of his stomach; it finally hit bottom when he was standing over the cot, gazing into his own crocheted face.

His doll was sloppily made, he realized as he hesitantly picked it up, noticing the bits of yarn poking out at all angles. It was on the very brink of unraveling—in fact, its little white lab coat fell open as soon as he gave it a tug, revealing the scrubs underneath.

They were meant to be blue. Instead, they were a wet, bright red—they were _soaked_ in red, the thin, tightly-woven black stitches over the doll’s neck and chest standing out darkly against it.

These were all of his wounds. Anti had marked his wounds…He knew every single one.

_Every day, he thought his body would adapt to the pain. He prayed that his nerves would die, that Anti would just extinguish them so he wouldn’t have to feel agony tearing down his spinal cord anymore._

_Every day, Anti found new ways to hurt him, only enjoying it more when his screams were broken or cut off as he gasped and sobbed. Crying only stole more of his breath. Anti liked watching him try to recover and then crashing a fist into his ribs, stealing his chance just before his lungs could receive the stale, musky air._

_“W̷ho̶ are y̢o̕u ͝hoping̢ for͞ ͢t̵od͠ąy?” Anti asked in a hushed voice, circling him like a wildcat around its dying prey. “Th͝e̢ ͠h͟e͞r̴o?_ _The ͞ch̴armer?_ _A͡re you desper̸a̴te ͟eņo͞u͠g̛h͜ by now to thi̷n̢k t̨h̢e̡ vlo̢gger̶ co̷uld̶ s̶a̸ve you?_ _G̸o o̡n, ḑoctor̡…Call̢ ̶f̕o͝r ̧t͡h̴em.”_

_He was well aware of how this worked by now. If he stayed silent, Anti would forgo his knife and take up the pipe that lay in the corner. It was always there, threatening its use. His only choice was which he feared more today. “Marvin…” he whispered, tears cutting silent trails through the sweat and grime caked on his cheeks._

_“A̧ww. Starting ̢to get ̧b̕or͘ed̛ ̡of c͠al͜ling̢ ̡f͟or̡ Jac̕kieb͟oy͜?” The sound the knife made as it slid into Anti’s palm was one that stirred a tremor of panic in Schneep’s chest—a blessing in disguise, as it brought the gift of adrenaline. Pushing his weight up on his toes, he shuffled to recoil, his arms straining against the chains suspending them. His entire back spasmed and the sockets of his shoulders burned, even more so as the Glitch tutted gently and seized him around the throat, his fingers fitting perfectly into the bruised skin where he had strangled him before. Schneep expended a good amount of his air in his helpless cry as Anti dragged him back to his previous position._

_“S̴hou̵ld I ̢be ͠po͘etic?” he asked rhetorically, his entire face glitching frenziedly as he broke into a manic smile. “How abo͝ut a̧n͘ M ͜on̡ y͡ou̡r sh͞ou̡l̢d͟e̕r̛?_ _I҉'m̸ ͞sure ̧ţhere’s̷ ̷a͘ va҉c͢anc̨y there̛…” With one more near-affectionate squeeze to the doctor’s neck, Anti released it, skirting past to stand behind him and then reaching up on tiptoe. Schneep whimpered and shivered as he felt the Glitch’s static brush over his back, clinging to his spine. In his peripheral vision, cruel, calloused fingers wrapped one by one around his wrist, nails leaving pinprick red marks against his pulse point._

_“Y̢o̶ư're͘ ri͘ght-̢hand̢ed,͟ ͝ar̛en’t you̶?”_

_Never had he been so terrified of that question, but his panicked breaths soon lapsed into the old shrill, cracking cries as his arm was wrenched down and back, dislocated. The combined pressure of Anti’s hand and the metal cuff broke his wrist in the same motion, new gouges in the skin weeping red. The doctor wept with them as Anti released his hand and clutched the back of his head instead, pushing it down so his back and shoulders would be more exposed._

_“T͝hȩre ͟we̢ ̸a͡re!” he exclaimed in satisfaction, an elbow digging into Schneep’s back as he leaned on him and turned his knife around in his hand as if it were a utensil to draw. The doctor’s blood would be his paint._ “ _N͝ow͜ ͢let̴’s ̕mak͘e͞ ̡t̕h͡i͡s scar Mag̛n̵ific͢ent̵.”_

“Doctor!”

“ _NO!_ ” Schneep screamed, his voice echoing painfully in his ears as he whirled around and hurled the yarn doll as far as he could before dropping to the floor and covering his head to make himself as small as possible.

“Schneep?” Signe whispered, kneeling beside him. “Schneep…?”

“Stop it, stop it, _stop_ it! Don’t—don’t hurt me, just don’t touch me,” he sobbed into the linoleum, the stitches straining to keep his wounds closed as he curled further and further in on himself.

“I won’t, Doctor,” she promised, apprehension and uncertainty ringing clear in her voice.

How long she sat there with him, he didn’t know, but eventually he was able to accept that he couldn’t…he couldn’t do this now. He couldn’t do this in front of her. When he finally found the strength to lift himself onto hands and knees, he managed in a tremulous whisper, “What do you want?”

“Marvin and I found something. I thought you should see…” Perking up, Signe peered worriedly off into the distance where he had thrown the doll. “You got one of those crocheted dolls too?”

_Too?_

He didn’t want to look. He would scream again if he looked.

He looked. Cupped in Signe’s hands were three dolls of Marvin, Chase, and Jameson.


	16. Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jameson does his best to cope with everything that’s happened in the past few days. As he explores his emotions and his surroundings, he unfortunately stumbles upon a secret that the others have tried to keep hidden away.

Once the portal slammed shut behind him—likely with more force than it was intended to—Jameson stumbled, reaching out a hand to catch himself on one of the nearby metal support beams and earning a stinging shock of pain for his troubles.

**“Mercies!”**

Biting his lip, he hugged his arm close against his side, only slightly relieved that none of the others had been here to see that. Now that he had left them behind for the ABOP, sheer silence settled down over him, a staleness in the air and a chilly poison in his bones—and the greatest of irony was that he was the only one in the group who couldn’t fill it. Old tears pricked freshly at his eyes thanks to that thought but he hurriedly fumbled with his handkerchief to dash them away. He thought he had gotten used to this by now; it must just be the emotions running high today.

He was here to check on Sam, he reminded himself, venturing toward the tank that took up the far middle of the room. The soles of his shoes scuffed loudly against the floor and as soon as he started to lower his head and look, he had to close his eyes. A weighty shudder passed through him as he finally registered the lingering scent of Chase’s blood. No one had been here to clean the past couple of days; Signe wouldn’t have known to and Robbie—

He probably would have liked it.

_Snapping teeth, wide, feral eyes, arms crashing down on top of him again and again and again, bringing too much pain to register all at once as he skidded across the floor, all senses ablaze, his only thoughts fear and escape—_

Exhaling harshly, Jameson clenched his eyes shut and pressed his hands against his ears long enough that the memory could fade into the darkness behind his eyelids. Once the tinny buzz that had accompanied it receded, he gradually became aware of the muffled thump against the glass from the inside of the tank.

Relief spilled over him as he lifted his head and found Sam gazing back at him, tail waving back and forth hesitantly and kicking up bubbles. The little one was dilated and bloodshot but otherwise he seemed alright; there wasn’t any other indication that he’d ever been bleeding.

Jameson’s speech slide flickered to greet him…Then it died away. What could he say? What was he here for? Yes, he’d used Sam as the excuse to come but had his sole motivation really been to make sure he was recovering? He was ashamed to admit it but…no. He had wanted something the others couldn’t give him: escape. That was what Jameson Jackson did best, after all; he stepped out of the way while the more experienced, more accomplished Egos did what had to be done.

Anger, guilt, and a sense of utter uselessness struck simultaneously at that thought and he grit his teeth, a fresh speech slide startling Sam as it burst out in front of him.  **“What am I, Sam? What am I if not just a waste of space and resources—a waste of Seán McLoughlin’s thought? I’m not brilliant or crafty in any sense. I couldn’t gather the wits to answer a blasted telephone! The undead was more use than I was!**

**“I’m no warrior. I couldn’t defend myself or any of the others when they were down, wounded; I let that Glitch threaten to snatch them away! I cowered against the wall like a child! The others have fought him time and time again, but _I_  would have let him—I would have let him destroy my loved ones. I would have done nothing and he would have killed Chase before my very eyes.”**

Nausea surfaced with those words, a stunning dizziness as he realized just how close he’d come to losing him. He couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors of seeing what Anti would do to him; his stomach wouldn’t allow it but after seeing Schneeplestein when he first came home after  _nine months_  of it, he had an inkling that was more than enough. The twisting and tumbling of his insides only worsened as he thought of how quickly Anti had tried again at the hospital.

The others turned to Jack for their hope. Jameson turned to Chase. Over the course of getting to know him, he’d learned of things that no one should have to go through. He’d done nothing to hide his disbelief and distress as Chase stared off toward the wall and described his divorce and his journey with depression, as if he were reading it in the distance—as if it had happened to someone else. Divorce itself was a foreign and disturbing concept to the youngest Ego, but to hear how much Chase had  _suffered_  for it…

Even so, Chase had insisted that he needed to know.  _“I know your story, Jem, how you became you,” he reminded him with a wan smile that didn’t reach his eyes by a long shot. “It’s only fair that you understand in case I snap at you for no reason or don’t leave my bed for two days. I don’t wanna do that to you and I’ll do my best not to, but if I do…you need to know why.” He’d taken a breath, lowering his gaze from the wall to his hands and squeezing them together until his knuckles turned white. “So I took my gun—”_

_That was about the time that Jameson had burst into tears. It took Chase a moment to realize what was happening, given that JJ didn’t make a sound because of it, but as soon as he glanced over and saw the tears, he panicked, throwing himself sideways to wrap around Jameson’s shaking shoulders._

_“Oh, I’m sorry, Jem. I’m sorry…”_

He had relived that very same panic when Chase had begged him not to let the doctors operate. As soon as he had been pushed out and the door had slammed behind him, Jameson had rushed down the hall, stumbling and skirting past strangers in the hallway until he found an empty room where he could hide, calm himself. It had taken longer than he cared to admit.

The operation had gone well, thank heavens, but their reunion had still been far too short-lived to give Jameson any sense of closure. He hadn’t wanted to part with Chase for a second, much less for two days, but Dr. Iplier and the Host were watching over him. He was in good hands, wasn’t he? Jameson wasn’t exactly sure what their ranges of abilities were but judging by the way the Host had taken down Robbie, he was no stranger to violence.

Anti was no stranger to it either.

 _What on earth am I doing here? I ought to be back at the hospital with him…I should never have left him_.

He had told Marvin not to bother fetching him any time soon, however, which meant that he had no way of knowing how long his stay would be.

For all he knew, the others may very well forget about him.

 **“At least I still have you,”** he mustered weakly, peering up at Sam and rubbing his arms gingerly in an attempt to slough off the sudden loneliness that reminded him just how isolated he’d become.

The cot that he kept here for overnight stays was just where he’d last placed it, shoved against the wall on his right by a small mini-fridge—the only clean appliance to grace the vaulted room—and a row of dusty wooden cabinets that held shelves with all sorts of metal scraps and debris. When he was bored, he often reorganized them or tried to fit pieces together at random, to see if they had once made up something usable. With the mood he was in now, he felt a rather unhappy kinship with them. None of those knickknacks had found their place either.

Even so, he couldn’t afford to be lost in those feelings. He had  _asked_ for this, he had come here willingly, and now he needed to live with it.

Sam pulsed a small, concerned glow as he watched Jameson wander away his tank—not toward his cot but toward the other side, where several larger piles of machinery sat under tarps and shadows. Where some of the tarps had been eaten at by time and moths, he could see small lights blinking and flickering through. This was an area that he hadn’t explored yet; maybe it could entertain him until he went to the small cold storage for dinnertime. The gentleman only paused for a moment as Sam hurriedly swam after him, hitting the thick glass with a  _thunk_  and flicking his tail back and forth.

 **“No need to worry after me, Peeper,”**  he assured him, waving a placating hand as the mascot tapped the glass a second time.  **“I won’t disturb anything that seems too delicate; I certainly wouldn’t want to be taken right back to the doctors because of any foolish clumsiness.”**

As it turned out,  _several_  of the piles were too delicate to disturb; he nearly jumped out of his skin as he lifted the edge of one tarp from the dusty floor and old springs and screws scattered around his feet as the weight of the covering was lifted. He could already foresee the disapproving stare that Sam was giving to the back of his head. Without acknowledging the glower pinned on him from behind, he innocently nudged the spilled parts back under the tarp with his foot and moved to the next.

There were old television boxes and computer shells tangled up in their own wiring, glass from their broken screens littering the floor around them. Other parts of the mess were indecipherable; they didn’t look like any kind of technology he had been introduced to yet.

Among the rest of the selection were old radios, dented speakers, knotted cables…It was a graveyard of parts. He did have to wonder why the others had kept all of these things instead of disposing of them, but some of the contraptions still had a half-life to them which came out in bits and spurts of static or crackling.

After the first three or four times of being startled by the sudden noises and flashes of black and white on the cracked screens, Jameson’s jumpiness gradually receded. He paced slowly back and forth in front of the rows, making guesses about what lay under the tarps he hadn’t removed and curiously following cables of various colors to see where they led.

 **“Now what could I uncover here?”**  he mused to himself, laying a hand on his hat to keep it on his head as he tilted it back and peered up at the largest of the tarps.  **“Tall, angular…A set of speakers, perhaps?”**

With careful intent he reached out to brush against the tarp, taken aback when he felt a warm thrum of power under his fingers.  **“Why, this is still operational! Did it reactivate after it was discarded or has it had power all this time—and if it’s the latter, _why_  discard it?”** Behind him, Sam was rapping against the glass more insistently, more urgently, but he was too caught up in his exploration to hear.

This tarp was much heavier than the rest, he noted as he gathered up the excess folds of its edge, digging in his heels as he dragged it away. He had to step back several yards before the whole contraption was revealed, but once it was, the covering promptly fell through his fingers. It was an entire display of computers suspended in a frame with a broad silver desk as a base, edged in chrome.

 **“Oh, my…This is quite the modern system! Each of these looks like the computer Jackieboy uses when he—”**  Jameson stopped up short there, his awe and wonder briefly punctured as he remembered the hero’s current state. Swallowing dryly, he stepped over the heaps of canvas to approach the desk, swiping a few fingertips over its smooth, glossy surface.

This display had a layer of dust much thinner than the rest, so it must not have been here as long. Why was it here in the first place? Standing on tiptoe with an added push with his hands on the desktop, he peeked into each of the dark screens in turn, seeing nothing but his own inquisitive reflection despite the tangible power coursing through them.

 **“There’s no visible damage to them,”**  he remarked in puzzlement, lowering himself back to the ground.  **“They simply don’t project pictures like most—”**

With a sputtering whine and the sizzle of electricity, the screen on his lower right came to life and he lurched, taken aback. The picture was black and white, marred by static but slowly gathering itself, clearing and sharpening. It was a kitchen, he realized, brows knitting. Why would someone be monitoring a kitchen?

Another beat later, the screen just above it came online, revealing a long, cluttered corridor. He had only seconds to process the sight before the one at the top of the row appeared, followed by the top center and the top left. The rest came into view in rapid succession, casting long shadows over him as they flickered and flared.

 **“What _is_  this?”** he questioned in a disbelieving whisper.  **“I’ve never seen these places…”**  There were no people he could see, no matter how long he stared at them. The longer he did, however, the more enveloped he became in them. For as many moving pictures as the others had showed him, there was nothing like this. They were simply rooms with labels, but there was something about them that was both foreign and familiar.

Eventually his eyes glanced and held on the conference room. There was a monitor in the room itself, a screen within a screen, and within that was nothing but static. His eyes pricked with moisture and pain as he stared at it for too long, but every time he considered looking away or even blinking, he felt that he couldn’t—or shouldn’t.

Ever so distantly, far beyond the ringing in his ears, he heard a series of dull thuds, like a consistent drumbeat from the inside of the tank that was staggered between his heartbeats.  _Sam_. Sam was somewhere behind him, wasn’t he? How had he forgotten…?

Before he had finished forming the question, it swirled away somewhere to the back of his mind. Confusion rose after it and a deep, unsettling ache rose after that, pulsing somewhere behind his eyes as they were dragged slowly back and forth over the screens. This was wrong somehow, this was  _innocuously_  wrong but as he told himself to step back, to look away, to muster some kind of response, he was rooted there—watching and waiting for something.

The anticipation of its presence crawled into him, unwanted, tingling through his skin and stirring fresh pain in the bones Robbie had fractured. Trembling faintly, Jameson drew in a breath that never seemed to reach his lungs; the faster he breathed, the less air he kept. His train of thought was swerving down a broken track, grinding to a halt. Instead of his own thoughts, he heard whispers,  _thousands_ of them, hoarse and thick, wet and dry against his ears.

_“What is this? I have no idea what’s going on!”_

_“Somebody explain!”_

_“We’re here for Anti.”_

_“He’s toying with us!”_

_“He hasn’t appeared for a long time now.”_

_“Please, let me sleep! C’mon, Jack, I’m begging you!”_

_“It has to be pre-recorded.”_

_“I’m doing my best to keep up with everything—”_

_“Did you guys see that?! I saw something in the kitchen!”_

_“What is that?!”_

_“Anti! Is that Anti?! He’s got a knife!”_

_“What is he doing?”_

_“What is happening?”_

_“Is anyone recording this?!”_

_“I’m sorry, guys, I just—I can’t stay any longer. Keep the watch for me!”_

Unable to keep his legs underneath him any longer, Jameson buckled under the strain of the voices, sinking backwards into a desk chair that certainly hadn’t been positioned behind him before. It was the farthest question from his mind, however, as he stared openmouthed up at the monitors. Whatever this was, he couldn’t walk away from it. The voices had fallen in number, softening ever so slightly, but they were still there, drowning out all other thoughts, drowning out the desperate knocking of the mascot on the other side of the room.

Was there an end to it? He had to know if there was an end…

He had to wait. He had to watch.

There was a great chance that he’d be here overnight.


	17. Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unaware of what’s continuing at home, Chase becomes increasingly restless as he recovers from his surgery. Soon enough he receives a visit that will hopefully serve well to distract him.

Chase had always considered himself a good patient. He wasn’t like Schneep, who would grumble at his caretaker that they weren’t doing it right and he could take care of himself, and he wasn’t like Marvin, who was constantly looking at the clock to see when he could make a break for it. He wasn’t like Jameson, who felt guilty for causing a fuss, or like Jackieboy, who—

 _Well, at this point Jackie’s a better patient than I am…He’s somewhere in this hospital, just…lying there_.

It went against everything in Jackieboy’s nature. As soon as he was patched up, he would try to leap off the exam table and go on patrol as if nothing had ever happened. He’d never been able to sit still when it came to healing. Perhaps that was still the case; he wasn’t healing right now. He was in tandem.

The point was that Chase had always been well aware of his limits. He knew what would stress him enough to hurt and what he could take. There had been a time when he didn’t care, when he had wanted the pain just to break through the numbness, but this wasn’t that time. Therefore Chase had stayed prostrate in his hospital bed for the past several hours. He’d hardly moved enough to wrinkle the blankets and yet he still found himself exhausted, as if he’d just finished a twelve-hour day of filming stunts.

Even if he’d been up and about, he wouldn’t have been filming; he’d put up a notice on the Bro Average channel almost five months ago that he was going on hiatus because of a serious family emergency.

“I…honestly don’t know when I’ll be back,” he’d admitted, scrubbing at his sore, tender, sleep-deprived eyes. “Hopefully by the end of this…I don’t know, maybe by the end of this year. Thanks, all of you, for understanding. Family comes first, y’know?”

Given his history with family, given what his viewers had watched him do for family, they were more than willing to let him have a reprieve. The stream of concerned comments had eased up as the weeks grew longer but there was always that sense of anticipation there. He knew they would be there waiting for him, no matter how long it took, and for that he was grateful. Hopefully he wouldn’t get too out of practice and lose his touch.

These thoughts were among the many he used to occupy himself as he whiled away hours upon hours of nothingness, resignedly drifting between sleep and a periodic staring contest with the ceiling. The ceiling always won.

Sometimes he would do his best to make conversation with Dr. Iplier and the Host, but he wasn’t close or knowledgeable about either of them so he eventually ran out of topics they might have in common. Neither of them were naturally talkative anyway, which only made it harder. The only entertainment Chase got during the day was when the nurses would come to check on him and even that was short-lived.

As the last nurse eased the door shut behind her, Chase leaned his head carefully back against the pillows and sighed deeply.

“Dude, can you grab my phone and see if any of the others have—?”

“They haven’t, Chase,” Dr. Iplier assured him, shuffling through the papers on the clipboard he was engrossed in. “I just checked twenty minutes ago.”

“Well, it’s on vibrate! Maybe we didn’t hear it! I just wanna know if they’re—”

“As impatience mounts within the Septic Ego, he recalls that he hasn’t taken a nap in almost an hour,” the Host cut in pointedly. “As much as he wishes he could continue to fidget and inquire, he finds that it will do him no good and that he should rest if he wants to leave the hospital sooner. The less time he spends awake, the less he will be aware of the time passing.”

Pouting, Chase hunkered down a little lower in his bed and mumbled, “You’re cheap.”

Before he could take the suggestion and close his eyes, however, the phone near Dr. Iplier’s elbow  _did_  vibrate. Perking up, he glanced at it in vague surprise and a haughty grin spread across Chase’s face.

“Well, would you look at that? Somebody’s calling! What’s the ID? ‘My Drug Dealer?’ ‘I’m A Kitty Cat?’ ‘Brainy Bub?’”

“None of them,” Dr. Iplier replied, raising an eyebrow at Chase’s phone screen. “It just says ‘ _Her’_.”

At that Chase’s smile faltered, eyes widening as slow realization trickled into his brain. “Oh, no…Oh, no, I was supposed to…Give me that, doc, let me see—”

As soon as the doctor handed him the phone, Chase felt as if it weighed three pounds heavier than usual underneath the tangible frustration and anger conveyed through the text glaring back at him.

**> The kids and I are at your house. Where are you? I’ve been ringing for five straight minutes. Don’t tell me you went out and forgot about them.**

Cursing under his breath, Chase hurriedly swiped at the keys, wincing as he was forced to pull against the IV lead in his arm.

 **< Had an emergency, I’m at the hospital. Needed surgery**.

**> What? What kind of emergency? What kind of surgery?**

**< Doesn’t matter. Could you bring them here? I still want to see them!**

**> Are you sure the doctors will allow that?**

**< YOU’RE MY FAMILY.**

As soon as he clicked “send” on that one, Chase knew he had made a mistake. He could almost sense Stacy on the other end, staring at those three words with skepticism and mistrust. His eyes lingered on them just as long, filled with longing, desperation, pleading. At long last, he could see her typing.

**> Elvery Heights West General, right? What’s your room number?**

Falling back against the pillows, he exhaled slowly and mouthed a silent thank-you, sending the proper information and then glancing back and forth between his companions.

“Okay, sorry to spring this on you, but I was supposed to have the kids today. They’re on their way here instead.”

“ _Oh_.” Flipping the papers on his clipboard shut, Dr. Iplier promptly rose from his seat, brushing down his coat. “In that case, I’ll be excusing myself now. I’m not good with kids; they always end up crying when I’m around. Host?”

“The Host isn’t particularly adept with them either, but he would like to remind the doctor that they are meant to be protecting Chase Brody should anything arise.”

“Then you’re staying?” At the Host’s brusque nod, the doctor waved a hand dismissively. “Alright, then, do what you want. Just don’t let them start pulling on your bandages or anything; you almost ruptured a blood vessel when you took them off during the fight and I don’t think it’d make for good times if they ended up covered in blood.”

Chase visibly flinched at the thought and for half a second the doctor looked as if he may regret saying it, but he didn’t apologize. As the door slid shut behind him, the Host apologized on his behalf.

“The doctor has always maintained a noticeable lack of a bedside manner.”

“Yeah, no kidding…” Picking at some loose string on his sheets, Chase squirmed, discomfort striking a more prominent ache in his head. “Host…uh, my family’s kinda…well, I just don’t want you to be weirded out if my wife—my  _ex_ -wife and I are—”

“Chase need not worry; the Host is well aware of his marital status.”

“You are? How?”

At that the Host simply tilted his head, folding his hands primly in his lap. “There is very little that escapes him.”

Then did it escape him how unsettling he was being or was he doing it to toy with him? Chase wondered uneasily. He didn’t bother to ask; he had a feeling that whatever the Host might say in response would only compound the issue.

As soon as he heard their voices outside the door, the vlogger pushed himself up in his bed as far as he could, trying to plaster a smile on his face. His kids didn’t need to know what had happened. They didn’t need to know everything that was weighing on his mind or causing him pain; they just needed to see their daddy smiling. The Host straightened in his chair in the corner and while he didn’t smile—did he ever?—he did seem much more attentive, even expectant.

“Here we are,” Stacy announced as she eased the door open, letting Connor and Brianna shuffle into the room.

“Hey there! Come give me a hug, would you?” Chase urged cheerfully, extending the arm that wasn’t hindered by the IV.

As soon as they saw their dad was upright and alert, in contrast to whatever they may have imagined, the kids lit up, rushing over to latch onto him. Their warmth, their familiar smell, their little hands entwining with his…It never stopped being precious.

“We missed you, Dad!” Brianna exclaimed, wrapping herself tightly around his forearm and rocking back and forth with it.

“Mama wanted to give up, she wanted to take us back to her house but I told her to keep ringing the doorbell, no matter how long it took!” Connor piped up eagerly, tugging on his fingers. “I knew you’d want to see us!”

“Oh, I  _always_  want to see you, little man…I’m sorry I wasn’t at the house,” Chase murmured kindly, casting a fleeting glance up at Stacy, who stood at the foot of the bed and hadn’t said a word of greeting.

There hadn’t been an actual face-to-face greeting between them for about nine months—no, nine months exactly. She had known something was seriously wrong with him and the others after Schneep had been abducted, so whenever they had to see each other, she opted to skip pleasantries and get right down to business. The same rang true here. Even as her eyes asked,  _What happened to you?_  her mind purposely glossed over the explanation.

“How are you feeling?” she asked evenly, loosely folding her arms against her chest—closing herself off from him. He forced his smile to remain despite it.

“Better than I was. It’s been a long week,” he confessed honestly. “I should be out of here tomorrow, if there aren’t any complications.”

“What happened?” Brianna asked at the same time Connor happened to glance into the corner and notice the other man in the room, holding Chase’s hand protectively in front of him as he demanded, “Who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s a—friend of mine.” Hopefully no one noticed Chase’s hesitation. “He’s called the Host. He’s been keeping me company, making sure I’m okay.”

“The Host is happy to inform them that their father has been very well cared for,” the Iplier Ego assured them, his tone strictly neutral but a shade lighter than its usual monotone. Brianna wrinkled her nose unsurely at that, peeking up at her dad.

“Why does he talk like that?” she whispered.

“Don’t be rude,” Chase scolded lightly, ruffling her silky blond hair. “That’s just how he likes to talk.” Come to think of it, he didn’t know if the Host  _could_  talk in first person.

Now that he had been reassured that this was a friend, Connor had broken away from Chase and was peering with wide eyes up at the Host, fiddling with his hands. “Do you—Do you wanna see a magic trick, Mr. Host?” he ventured hopefully. “I’ve been practicing one and I wanted to show Daddy when we came so can I show you too?”

“You don’t have to say yes, it’s just a silly trick he does with a calculator,” Stacy cut in, a little embarrassed.

“On the contrary, the Host is quite interested,” he countered, to which she stifled a sigh as Connor scurried to her side and pulled on the clasp to her purse until she fished the calculator out for him.

“See, see, I can make the calculator talk to you when you turn it upside down!” he exclaimed, hurriedly punching in numbers and then thrusting it out for the Host to see. He shrank back only a little as the Host rose from his chair and he noticed how large the man was, but the hand the Host extended to hold the device was kind. As he read it, he chuckled lightly.

“The Host bids the calculator  _hello_  in return,” he offered.

Pleased that he was playing along, Connor beamed, snatching the calculator back and typing a second time as he bragged, “I can get it to say your name too! It’s really easy!”

At that the Host raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but as he watched him wait patiently as Connor fiddled with it, Chase couldn’t help but feel a warm surge of gratitude.  _He said he wasn’t good with kids_ … _Or maybe he doesn’t need to be if kids are good with him_.

“Here!”

After a pause, the Host cleared his throat, announcing in a tone that was measured to be somewhat gentle, “The Host is sorry to break it to the master magician, but that combination of numbers spells ‘HOSE.’”

“What?!” Scandalized, Connor took a second look and glowered, pouting, “Well, maybe  _you’ve_  been spelling your name wrong all this time.” The Host bit his lower lip at that, clearly trying to hide a smile, and the little boy took his toy back, returning his attention to Chase as the Host returned to his chair. “Daddy, this one’s for you!”

“It’s a really good one,” Brianna promised. “He showed me earlier.”

“Well, then I’m looking forward to it,” Chase mused, scanning the numbers for a few moments before turning it around. He promptly burst out laughing, the sound causing a ringing pain in his own ears that he completely ignored. “You figured out how to say ‘BOSS’ with numbers?”

“Isn’t it the best?!” Connor burst out, nearly hopping up and down in his excitement. “I did it all on my own and I knew you’d like it! I knew you would! I wanna show your friend Mr. Jack. Do you think he’d like it?”

At that Chase’s laughter waned, his attention falling back to the calculator screen. He could already picture the smile Jack would give if he could see it, the one that always lit the entire room and filled everyone around him with warmth.

“Well, Jack is…He’s been really, really busy lately,” he managed at length. “I’ll see when we can get together and you can show him, okay? Hopefully we can do that soon.”

As Connor nodded and took the calculator back, chattering with his sister about how much he would practice until then, Chase found his thoughts straying. Now that he’d been reminded of what lay waiting for him at home, he felt even more trapped in this bed than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which this is just filler until the juicy chapters to come :)


	18. Unreality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the others attempt to find their balance in the real world, what exactly is going on inside Jackieboy’s head?
> 
> A/N: Warning for violence, blood and emotional/psychological trauma. This ain't a pretty one.

_Despair…_

_Poison…_

_Shadows…_

_Misery…_

_Broken…_

_Death, death, death, death_ —

“Help me! Somebody help me!”

Bitterly cold sweat clung to Jackieboy like a full facemask as he sprinted toward the source of the sound. He was more afraid now than he had ever been because he knew who he would find when he came to the end of this road. The screams were growing in volume, in fear—He could hear each cry in varying pitches, but they were all the very same voice. He would know that voice in any time and any place, no matter the age or the pitch, and no matter what it took, he  _had_  to save him.

The moment he turned the corner past the last building in a dark, powerless metropolis, he spotted him and a fresh surge of fear and adrenaline spurred him on. His strides lengthened, his feet pounding like thunder against the cracked, uneven ground.

He had to reach him, save him, he had to protect him. He had protected his people more times than he could count and they were the farthest thing from his mind. For an eternity now he had tried to find someone, anyone in the wasteland of Elvery Heights and now, on the farthest reaches of it all, he could hear  _him_. No one else had ever mattered more. He meant the world and everything in it. Jackieboy had to make him safe and keep him that way; it was all he was created for—

When he hit the transparent barrier, it was with the force of a lightning strike and yet it didn’t break, sending him flying onto his back. Scrambling upright just as quickly as he fell, the hero flew at it again, slamming his fists against it and staring desperately at the little boy on the other side. He surrounded by shadowy figures on all sides—sticky, deformed masses that created an inky web around him, cornering him, hemming him in.

“I’m here!” Jackie called urgently. “I’m here! Let me save you!”

Pressing his hands against his face, little Jack only sobbed harder; if he didn’t look up, he wouldn’t see him! Punching the unseen barrier again with enough force to make his hands bleed, Jackieboy cursed and screamed at him, unheard.

“It’s all around me!” This cry came from an older Jack, a teen crawling out of one of the oozing black creatures, coughing and choking as its essence dripped down his face into his mouth, strangling him. The child Jack flinched away from him, another stuttered scream escaping him as he threw out his hands to protect himself.

“I can hear it calling!” A third Jack burst from the darkness on his left, tearing at himself, trying to peel the ooze away as it slid over the green crown of his head and streaked down his skin and clothing and hair.

Immediately in front of the child, there appeared a fourth—the present Jack, hair and beard darker and thicker, hospital gown flapping wildly in an unseen wind around his thin frame as he stumbled, hunched over, clutching at his throat and bleeding from the eyes and mouth.

While he never locked eyes with the Ego he’d created, he did lift his head, staring into the distance as his bloody lips formed words that never fully surfaced. Even without the sound, Jackie knew what he was saying.

“Goodbye.”

“No!” he howled, scrabbling frantically at the barrier as every part of his creator slowly melted before his eyes, pain and anguish the last thing to see on his inky, liquid face. At long last, the barrier cracked and with three more blows it shattered, but he couldn’t dive forward fast enough. As soon as he did, the scene changed and he had thrown himself into the middle of a battle. Narrowly he dodged a volatile blast of magic and gasped, hurriedly whirling around to pinpoint its maker.

Bruised and bloody, Marvin stumbled backward, his whole body heaving as he struggled to drag in air. As soon as the shadowy creatures started to remanifest, however, he snarled, his eyes igniting with green light so powerful that his pupils and irises disappeared entirely. The spell he hollered was unintelligible but Jackie could feel the rage and the heat behind it as it soared past him and burned the creatures away. When he glanced back, Marvin had crumpled limply to the floor, smoke trailing from his exposed skin. Jackieboy’s heart lurched in his chest.

“Mar—!”

He never reached the second syllable. By some unseen force Marvin was dragged up onto his knees, thicker smoke trailing from his eyes and mouth. As pieces of his mask fell away and scattered before him, his skin turned ashen and he shivered convulsively as bits and pieces of his body dissolved away into dust.

Jackieboy had no time to process the shock or even to shout. Gunshots echoed from a few hundred yards away, ricochets ringing dangerously past his ears.

_Not Chase. Not Chase!_

Shrill, panicked curses shattered the air as Chase charged across the battlefield, sending bullets in every direction in some reckless attempt to defend himself as a half-melted, shadowed war machine tore after him, engines roaring as if the machine itself were alive. Dripping black limbs burst from sockets along its body, swinging and grasping and shattering the ground in Chase’s wake.

Before Jackieboy could move to intercept, a sepia blur passed him from the other side, sprinting toward the danger instead of away from it. No, not toward the danger—toward Chase.

“No, no,  _get back!_ ” Chase screeched, flinging an arm out desperately to stop him. He was thrown off balance by the motion; the next swipe from the machine snagged him, pushing and pulling simultaneously to bring the vlogger down on the razor edge of its second limb with a sickly crunch. It speared through his chest, drawing a strangled, dying wheeze from him before the limb reeled back and flicked him off like an insect. As soon as he landed, Jameson skidded to a stop, quailing in horror as he saw the blood pooling under Chase’s still form.

As soon as his mouth opened, a hideous noise exploded from him, sending a shock of agony to Jackieboy’s core. JJ’s aura was screaming for him—harsh, distorted tones of old-timey tunes screeching brokenly up and down until they were little more than garbled reverberations, the sepia colors blurring with static and billowing like a storm away from him as he dropped to the ground and pawed at Chase’s body, sobbing into him. While he was distracted, the dripping black limb of the machine swung again, smashing into him at ninety miles an hour. It shattered him on impact.

Schneep was there to catch him, cradling his broken body as he sank onto the ground, curling around him and weeping bitterly into his hair. “ _Kleine_ … _Kleine_ …”

As the machine crawled closer, casting a long shadow over him, the doctor lifted his head, weakly blinking away the tears brimming in his eyes as he stared death in the face.

“I know you kill me next,” he whispered.

“Run!  _Henrik,_   _run!_ ” Jackieboy bellowed. For the first time Schneep reacted to his voice, startling and turning wild eyes to him.

“Jackie?!”

“ _RUN!_ ” he howled again and Schneep obeyed, scrambling frenziedly to his feet and bolting as the machine chittered and roared.

No matter how either of them ran, no matter the distance they crossed in less than a second, it wasn’t enough. Before they could close the distance, the floor distended, cracked and gave way beneath them. Stars streamed past in a frightening blur as Jackieboy tumbled into the blinding abyss below. After mere seconds of falling, he froze, his hood falling quite gently away from his face.

He hung suspended in midair, scarcely able to breathe. One by one, the stars around him flickered and died out until he was enveloped in complete blackness. The only thing he could hear was the thundering of his own heart in his ears.

The longer he dangled there, unable to move, unable to do anything but let his racing mind still, the further reality set in.

This couldn’t be real…

He couldn’t have…

They couldn’t be gone.

Ever so gradually, the shock and horror of everything he had seen up above gave way to helpless rage so deep in his core that he felt like a bomb frozen mid-detonation. Anguish consumed him, coursing through him like wildfire. Helpless tears scalded his cheeks and his harsh panting gave way to broken moans.

“Please… _please_ , n-no…Take me instead…Just take me…”

It was then that he felt something course and thin tickling his skin as it tangled around his neck. A second slithered after the first, tightening, and a third came after that, each wrapping itself around his throat with more force than the last. He stiffened and gasped, straining to move, but his body wouldn’t respond, not even when the cords were starting to set bruises into his skin.

Each mouthful of air receded further and further as one cord after another pulled taut around him, methodically, deliberately bearing down on his windpipe. His lungs felt elastic, falling slack where they should be constricting and searching for air. The more he struggled and flailed internally, the less air he found until all rational thought became a cloudy, oxygen-deprived blur of dizziness and his eyes fluttered, rolling back in his head.

He let the tightening threads take him, and keep him.

When he woke, the first thing he was aware of was the piercing, needle-like pressure drilling into his skull, just behind his ears. He cried out against it, mostly out of shock and confusion, and then a second time as the pain belatedly registered.

He was still hanging in midair, but now he was mostly upright—in fact, he was tilted slightly forward. Across his chest, arms and legs he could feel thick straps holding him in place against a cold, unrelenting iron rack. The lights around him were dim but as soon as his senses adjusted, he could smell the stench of old blood and chemicals that had never managed to wash it out. He could hear the dripping of unseen fluids far away in the hall and…

Now he could see the man on the other side of the room. His recently regained breath burned as it stuck in his tender throat.

“Hello again,” the Doll Maker purred in his thick, eerily familiar accent, scraping his scalpel in a leisurely circle across the tray in front of him.

“Not you,” Jackieboy croaked, his voice breaking as he flinched back against the rack he was tied to. “Not—not you—” Despite the words coming out of his mouth, deep down he couldn’t help but feel the smallest twinge of relief at seeing someone who was flesh and blood,  _alive_  and apparently well.

“Who else would you expect, hmm? One of your friends, yes? Oh, forgive me—I forgot they died up above.” Chuckling ruefully, the former surgeon shook his head, wiping a thumb over the edge of the scalpel and apparently uncaring when he sliced the skin open. He barely reacted; did he feel any pain?

“How…do you know…?”

“We are in your  _mind_ , ragdoll. You teach me everything I know whether you like it or not!” Behind his glasses, his old nemesis’ eyes scrunched up like merry crescent moons as he smiled behind his mask, wiping his bleeding thumb off on his apron and approaching. “Is time to have my fun with you before you’re taken back up there to watch them all die again! So messy, isn’t it? I will try not to make such mess.”

Shivering violently with unspent adrenaline, Jackieboy pressed as far back against the rack as he could, hissing in pain as the needles dug further into his skull. Unaffected by it, the Doll Maker lightly traced his cheekbones and jaw with the scalpel, drawing thin cuts.

“I never bothered sizing you up whenever we met, did I?” he questioned rhetorically. “Now I’ve just noticed: you have little smile lines around your eyes, ragdoll! But you don’t have much reason to smile now, do you?”

If he was in the mood to chat, Jackieboy would chat. Maybe the Doll Maker could reveal something he didn’t know, something he needed, he decided in a heartbeat. “Do you…” Biting his lower lip, he leaned his head forward half a millimeter, trying to ease up some of the pressure. “Do you know what happened to Henrik? He was still alive, he was with me…We fell.”

“Oh, I imagine the  _good_  doctor is with the Glitch. That’s where he always is when he’s not with you, isn’t it? Because the Glitch always takes him right out from under your nose.”

“S-Shut up.”

“Ahh, don’t shoot the messenger, hero. You know it’s true.”

“He’s—”

“Even here in your zany little brain,” the Doll Maker interrupted emphatically, “that’s where he is when he isn’t with you. Whenever you can’t find him, you know it means he’s in danger. You’d be joined to the hip with him if you could be, wouldn’t you? You’d be joined at the hip with all of them if you had enough hips!” He laughed then, appreciating his own joke, and then patted Jackieboy’s side reassuringly. “Once my little numbing agent works, you won’t have to worry about your hips anymore.”

“ _Numbing agent?_ ”

“What did you think those needles behind you were, screws in the rack?” At Jackieboy’s increasingly nervous silence, the Doll Maker lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, waving the scalpel dismissively. “Not my usual style, I know. I would like to cause you much more pain, but in your mind I do not—ah, what is it you say? I do not ‘call the shots.’ The Glitch does.”

The stricken hero’s breath promptly fell harder and faster at that. “ _Anti_. Anti’s in my head,” he murmured hoarsely. “He’s controlling my dreams—”

“And he controls me too!” the Doll Maker reminded him, small patches of his body glitching faintly at the words. “I’m just a little avatar.”

“Then all of the others…they weren’t real? They didn’t actually—?”

“Oh, no, no, no. The others are still alive and well out in the real world!”

As he gradually became aware of the nauseating pins-and-needles sensation tingling through him, Jackieboy tilted his head, squinting at him. He would have expected relief at those words but instead the only things he could feel were bewilderment and unease. “Why…why would you  _tell_  me that?”

“Because the Glitch wąn̛ts you to know. All of those d͠eath͝s you saw for them may not have happened, but he’s soon going to fix̨ th̕a̸t. That’s what he has p͟l̶an͡n̢e͝d͝ for them in the real world—and you? You’ll still be here, knowing what’s to come without being able to do a thing about it!” the Doll Maker exclaimed.

Jackieboy’s eyes tried to widen at that, but it was too much of a struggle. The pins and needles were dragging weightily over him, encompassing his whole body, making his eyes ache, making their lids heavy.

“Oh, silly me forget to mention one more thing,” his nemesis called as he started to drowse. “The numbing agent only works for as long as you’re unconscious. I’ll work fast to doll you up nicely while you’re sleeping, but I make no promises! When the drugs wear off and you come to…you’ll probably learn a whole new definition of pain.”


	19. Remission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that he knows Jackieboy is down for the count and the responsibility to protect the other Egos has fallen to him, there are things that Marvin needs to address – specifically, what happened between him and Schneep.

Marvin had tried every possible form of examination. Prying off his mask with a frustrated hiss, he tossed it onto his cluttered desk, eyes narrowed at the doll before him. Every time he doused it with magic, it flailed about, sizzling and burning; it should have been nothing but ashes by now.

Eventually, however, the fire shrank and died away without leaving a single scorch mark on his desk or the doll. In fact, it looked as if it’d been completely untouched all this time. Nothing he had done over the past few hours made any conceivable dent in it; there wasn’t a single string out of place.

“What is this even supposed to be? What does it mean?” he growled to no one in particular, picking up the perturbing plaything and glaring more deeply into its wide, unnerving stitched eyes.

It was entirely identical to him in every way: the long-sleeve blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, the black jeans, the cape, the mask…Even the shade of thread used for its eyes was unique, quite unlike than that of the Jameson doll that had been tossed nearby after an hour or so of examining it with no success—not that he’d found any better success with his own. He leaned over, snatching the little Jameson up a second time and weighing the pair for a side-by-side comparison.

 _Entirely identical_. Marvin’s eyes were darker, glaucous blue. When Jameson made a point of letting his sepia aura recede and color bled into his skin, hair and clothing, it could be seen that the younger Ego’s eyes were quite light, more powder-gray than blue, and the dolls had been stitched accordingly.

If Marvin had to give Anti credit for anything, it was his attention to detail, but the thought that the Defect had ever managed to get close enough to memorize their  _eye colors_  made his stomach turn. Distinctly uncomfortable, he promptly set the Jameson doll back in its former place and made a mental reminder not to pick it up again unless absolutely necessary.

His own doll’s thin, loosely tied black cape flapped haphazardly about as he waved it back and forth, unable to think of anything else to do with it. It was unnaturally heavy in his hand, the weave of each piece of yarn dense and tight. It was made to be sturdy, but no natural yarn would be able to stand up to his magic.

Perhaps this was no natural yarn. He couldn’t expect it to be, honestly. Who knew what Anti could have done to it? It was just as cursed as its weaver.

As soon as he and Signe had walked into his room and found the doll waiting for him, resting in the dead center of his pillow, Marvin had been paralyzed, simultaneous dread and fury rooting him to the spot.

Signe had moved ahead of him toward the bed, picking up the doll and asking him uncertainly where it had come from, and Marvin hadn’t been able to respond, stumbling back to lean against the wall as he strained his magic just that much more to perform a locator spell.

It wasn’t a spell he used often, given how much it required of him, but he had needed to see if there were still any traces of Anti’s essence in his room. To his frustration, he couldn’t muster enough energy or magic to tell after the strength he’d spent opening the portal for Jameson. He hadn’t fully recharged and draining himself for that last push had been the final straw for his body. His vision had become a stomach-churning tilt-a-whirl and he knew he was about to make a repeat performance of the spectacular faint he’d performed in Schneep’s lab. He couldn’t—He had to—

He’d very nearly crashed into Signe as he slumped forward, but somehow he managed to keep his feet underneath him long enough to stagger past her and fall toward the bed. He was out cold before he connected and the sleep that enveloped him was dreamless.

When he’d awoken, he was groggy and sore, cursing himself for sleeping on his stomach and creating a throbbing crick in his neck, but he’d felt a little more like himself. While he shook off sleep, he’d shifted limp fingers to get the blood flow back to them, satisfied to see that sparks danced around their tips without too much of a delay. Now that he’d gotten some decent rest, his magic was recovering.

His next bleary glance, aimed at the clock nearby, had told him he’d just slept for twelve hours undisturbed. That was less of a surprise than it should have been, given the household he lived in; more often than not he would have one of the others knocking on his door to wake him for morning cartoons before the workday and for a moment or two, he’d forgotten the events of the day before. When memory sank in, he’d stilled, breathing deeply and taking in the faded scent of cleanser lingering in his sheets as he ran through a mental checklist.

Chase was still at the hospital, recovering from the surgery.

Jameson was still in the ABOP. He had a cot there; hopefully he had slept alright.

Signe had probably opted to stay out of his room because she thought he needed the rest.

It wasn’t any wonder that no one had come to wake him. In fact, he’d genuinely considered closing his eyes and sleeping for a while longer, but it was then that he’d also remembered the  _doll_. He’d forced himself to rise so he could do some research.

Since then, after cramming down two pieces of toast to satisfy Signe’s warnings against working on an empty stomach, he’d been seated here in his workroom, poring over his books for some spell that could unravel this hideous little doll. From the looks of it, there was nothing special keeping it together. It didn’t even seem to serve any magical purpose. Why was it here? Why had Anti put it here and why had he chosen  _now_  to do so?

As the doll’s cape clumsily started tangling around his fingers, he broke out of his thoughts, dropping it with a small noise of disgust and then sighing deeply, leaning his elbows on the desk and massaging his temples.

He really shouldn’t be working at all, given that the stitches in his chest were protesting every movement. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken pain medication either, but there were so many other things he needed to do. He needed to check on the Jack and Schneeplestein dolls that had been discovered, he needed to fetch Jameson from the ABOP and check on Sam in the process, he needed to eat something more than that toast, call Chase at the hospital to get an update on how he was feeling…

How on earth did Jackieboy cope with all of this responsibility? Why had Jack made  _him_  the next one in line to have that power put on his shoulders when Jackieboy wasn’t there to handle it? Would that it were someone else…

No. It would be an utter disaster. Marvin was molded for this purpose and he was meant to be exactly where he was. If any of the others were to be in his place, they would never be able to stand up under the weight. It would always be his responsibility, even if he didn’t like it. Jackieboy never said a bad word about them when they leaned on him for support, so what right did Marvin have to do so?

Marvin missed Jackieboy more than he could possibly say. He had never been allowed to see him since he’d learned that he was in the coma; police were stationed at both his old room and the room he’d been transferred to, pending the investigation of the nurse’s death. They didn’t know whether or not he was still a target and the family was always the first group of suspects. Worse, Marvin couldn’t even tell them that it was already too late, that the attacker had gotten exactly what he wanted long before they’d arrived.

Come to think of it, he had never even seen Jackieboy since he’d left home. Jackieboy had barely bothered to say goodbye. Now he wasn’t even sure he wanted to, given what he knew would be waiting for him. His next breath was shakier than it should have been, but he needed to keep it together. He was leader. A leader maintained his composure for the sake of the others, no matter the toll it took on him emotionally. A leader—

“Marvin…? If…If I say you’re right, will you stop hating me?”

His train of thought ground to a stop at that voice. Dejectedly Marvin lifted his head, glancing over his shoulder at the doctor who stood in the doorway. He was already crying, he noted, guilt curling up tightly in his stomach. That wasn’t a good sign.

A leader dealt with issues on the inside before trying to address anything else.

“I don’t hate you,” he muttered.

“You do, I know you do!” Schneep protested miserably, ducking his head as the tears raced to escape his wiping fingers. “I want to say whatever will make you stop being angry with me but I don’t know what it is! I want to take responsibility, like you say I should!” Slumping against the wall by the door, he blurted out, “It’s my fault. Is always my fault! I did this to us! I should never have left Jackie. I s-should have stopped him from leaving in first place! I failed him, I fail us, I fail you all the time and—”

“Stop, Schneep, don’t say that,” Marvin cut him off quietly, pushing away from his desk and spinning his chair around to face him. “You’re just gonna keep working yourself up and we both know it’s not true.”

“It is! I mean it! I do—!”

“But I didn’t. I shouldn’t have put that on you. I just…” Frustration and sadness winding into a tight knot in his chest, Marvin shook his head, throwing up his hands. “I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t come to us, why you didn’t tell us what had happened with Jackieboy! One of us could have  _gone_  to him while you were treating Jack and maybe we could’ve done something to save him!”

Another surge of anger roughened his tone as he tore his gaze away. “I’m just—I am  _sick_  of seeing them get hurt. Seeing both of them sacrifice so much for us and suffer for it—I hate it so much! I hate Anti so much for it that it scares me and when there’s any kind of chance that any of us can prevent it…We could’ve  _helped_  you, Schneep. Why did you try to take it all on yourself again?”

“Because that’s my job!”

The magician’s mouth opened at that, nothing less than astonished at how Schneep said that without any hesitation, as if it was something that had been established and understood since he was born. Marvin knew he valued independence over a lot of other things, but did he honestly believe that doing it without any help had been his job since he’d first walked through the front door, barely coherent in his English and greener than Jack’s hair?

Did he honestly think he was  _meant_  for that? Had they made him feel that way?

“Are you—are you kidding?” the magician sputtered when he remembered how to find words. “We’re supposed to be a family, aren’t we?! None of us can do it ourselves; that’s the whole point of us living together like this! That’s why Jack  _brought_  all of us together! We’re supposed to rely on each other! You weren’t made to handle anything like this yourself!”

“I know, I know! Is why I wanted to prove that I could! Nine months ago I fail with Jack and with Jackie I wanted to try again! I—I want to do something  _right_  for once on my own without  _needing_  help for the f-first time since Anti took me and instead I just make everything worse!” Unable to stand looking at Marvin anymore, Schneep hid his face in his hands, shoulders heaving, words muffled and broken between the sobs and his fingers. “I j-just wanted t-to be a good doctor!”

The pit of Marvin’s stomach sank at that and he levered himself to his feet, drifting across the room to put a tentative hand on his arm. “C’mon,” he murmured. “C’mon, doc, you’ve gotta breathe—” The rest of his words were forced back into his throat as the younger Ego flung himself at him, burying his face in his chest and drawing a startled grunt from him.

His shirt going damp within seconds, Marvin swallowed hard, gingerly looping his arms around him. The two of them weren’t in the habit of hugging; he’d forgotten what it felt like. It was strange, a little uncomfortable, but Schneep was too overcome to care like Marvin did. Usually Jackie was here whenever either of them needed comfort or reassurance…

Who knew how long it would be before they got a hug from him again? At that unwelcome thought, Marvin automatically tightened his grip and Schneep heaved a shuddering breath, apparently reading his mind.

“I k-killed them,” he whispered hoarsely, clutching at the older Ego’s shirt and lifting his head to stare at him with damp, bloodshot eyes. “I killed them, I  _killed_  them and they—”

“No,” Marvin stopped him immediately, shaking his head violently. “No, you didn’t. If they’re still breathing, they’re still alive, okay? Jack did even more than that, remember? He spoke and he opened his eyes! It’s like Chase said; we can still get through to him!”

“But Jackie…Jackie…”

“Whatever happens with him, we’ll take care of it. We’re going to protect him, okay?”

“I c-can’t protect anyone! Any time I t-try, I just make it  _worse_. We can’t lose both of them, Marvin! I can’t do this anymore, I cannot lose them both, not like this! I just can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I  _can’t_ —”

“Shh, shh-shh-shh…C’mon, you’ve gotta get ahold of yourself…” Marvin protested weakly as Schneep’s head fell against his chest again, his anguished mantra dissolving into incoherent whimpers. “Schneep, please, you’ve gotta…you…”

His own pleas were failing now as his throat tightened and Marvin was suddenly all too aware of the fact that he was buckling, losing the composure a proper leader was meant to keep.  _Stop it, stop, you’re just being ridiculous. This is stupid…Why are you even doing this right now? This isn’t about you; you’re meant to be comforting him, so just suck it up and…and…No, stop, please stop, don’t—_

Too late. The tears were spilling like leaks from a sturdy pipe, the cracks growing too fast for him to patch them and allowing more and more to escape. He couldn’t keep up. One minute he was the comforter, the next he had dragged Schneep as close as he could possibly get him, shivering around him as if they were being frozen solid.

“M—Mm—?!” Schneep hiccupped frantically, unable to catch his breath as it was stifled in Marvin’s shirt, and the magician just shook more desperately, tightening his grip enough that he heard a small squeak of pain from the other against the curve of his throat. He wanted to be sorry for it, but he was too caught up in the tide of emotion that had been set loose.

“I’m  _sorry_ ,” he choked out in grief-stricken stops and starts. “I—I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how we’re ever gonna get through this, Schneep, I just don’t know! Jackieboy’s the only one who stands a chance against Anti! He’s s-smarter and faster and stronger and kinder and if he was here, he c-could figure out what to do! I have  _nothing!_  An’ I snapped at you, I  _blamed_  you, an’ he never would’ve! He never would’ve turned on any of us! I don’t know how to be what I need to be to protect any of you until he wakes up!”

Schneep’s hyperventilating only worsened the longer his confession went on and something in Marvin sensed it, his next words failing to surface no matter how hard he tried to get them past the lump in his throat. Wordless cries came more easily.

After several rounds of tears that made their whole bodies ache, how long did they stand there, leaning on each other like two playing cards about to topple from the top of their house? Crying for so long had taken something out of him that he didn’t realize he could give. How many months had it taken for that to build up in him?

They were utterly spent, not to mention raw, pained, and  _soaked_. Frankly it was disgusting, Marvin mused faintly, but he couldn’t muster any care. He just had to catch his breath, which seemed perfectly reasonable to Schneep. It didn’t look like he had any intention of pulling away from where he had tucked his face into Marvin’s shoulder.

That…That was okay. Right now, Marvin didn’t have any intention of letting him go.


	20. Abberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneep and Marvin recover from the emotional turmoil after their reconciliation and, in the process, they decide they ought to check in with Jameson.

Schneep returned to the waking world with a start, groaning as soon as his aching eyes were open and flinging an arm over his face. He didn’t have a clock accessible near his little cot in the side room off his lab, but he could sense that it had only been a short time since his conversation with Marvin.

Crying hard always took a lot out of him and when Marvin had finally felt okay enough to pull away and had gotten a good look at him, he’d sniffed, rubbed his face and advised the doctor to go lie down for a while. He’d promised to wake Schneep after an hour or two but as usual, Schneep’s caffeine-fueled body would never perform properly to others’ standards.

He knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep any time soon, no matter how his mind craved it and despite the fact that he’d gotten hardly any sleep yesterday night after his panic attack upon finding the doll in his cot. Thus he opted to kick his blanket onto the floor, inelegantly smudge his glasses as he slid them onto his nose and rise.

As he stumbled back out into the main room, his attention naturally gravitated back to Jack. “It’s about time you got a change for some fresh IV bags, isn’t it?” he mused, coughing to clear his throat as his voice broke. It was a habit his body had when he’d just woken up that was quite exasperating; a good doctor was supposed to speak with prestige and clarity!

 _A good doctor_ …

His anguished words to Marvin easily came back to him then and he pursed his lips, grimacing as he pulled the IV bags down from their rack and the upward motion made the stitches in his arms and shoulders protest. He had to be a good doctor. He may not have made anything better for Jack and Jackieboy…He may have made everything  _worse_  for them, in fact, but he still had to be a good doctor.

“I can start by cleaning up after messes I made and taking tender, loving care of you while you are sleeping,” he concluded to Jack, as if his creator could have heard his thoughts. “Is least I can do for you, Jack, after everything you’ve done for me.”

Once the bags had been changed, antidepressants and all, Schneep drifted over to his coffee machine. Upon returning with his #1 Doctor mug filled to the brim, he sank down into the chair by Jack’s bedside, sipping on the coffee before the steam had even subsided. It was hot enough to make his toes curl in his loafers but the taste of cinnamon and peppermint more than made up for it. Thoughtfully he paused, leaning forward and blowing some of the steam gently in Jack’s direction. Perhaps he imagined that Jack’s breathing deepened as it reached him, but it was a comforting thought.

“This is the closest we get to sharing coffee again,” he remarked softly. The comment didn’t stir as much pain in him as it usually did, to his vague surprise. The future for Jack was still just as uncertain as it had been yesterday and there were still no signs other than Chase’s word that he was anything close to responsive, but Schneep must have simply cried himself out earlier. There were no more tears to shed for Jack, at least not for today. They wouldn’t change anything.

In a way, it was even more important that he had spent those tears for the noble cause of reconciling with Marvin. He’d even gotten the magician to open up with him, which was more of a rarity that Schneep cared to admit. They had never clicked with each other the way they had with Jackieboy and more often than not, he was the one who dragged them onto neutral ground and forced them to face their differences when they surfaced as arguments.

Somehow or another they had managed to make their way through it on their own and Schneep genuinely hoped that it would be a good starting point for the future, proving that they could get through everything else on their own until Jackieboy woke.

He  _was_  going to wake up; he and Jack both were. Right now, with the state of mind he was in, Schneep refused to face any other alternative.  

After sitting in silence and sipping his way halfway down the mug for a while, he returned to his feet, promising, “I’ll be back soon, Jack. I just need to go check on the others, alright?” and then shuffling out of the lab, dimming the lights slightly as he went.

“Hey, what are you doing up?” Marvin scolded. “It’s only been forty-five minutes, Schneep, you’re supposed to—oh, well, the  _coffee_ explains it. You really need to start going lighter on that stuff if you ever want to sleep well again.”

“Are you really going to give another speech about how unhealthy it is for me every time you see me with a coffee mug?!” Schneep exclaimed, to which Marvin simply huffed and turned down the volume on the TV. As soon as Schneep shuffled in his direction to join him on the couch, however, he switched the channel, earning a suspicious look that lingered until he finally glanced sideways to meet it.

“Before you ask, yes, it was a Disney movie,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Of course it was. You give me the grief and the nagging for my vices—” He lifted the coffee mug indicatively. “—at the very same minute you’re indulging yours!”

“Y’know, now that my magic is returning, I could perform a spell that would make you see stars and put you to sleep for  _hours_.”

“As long as you caught my coffee mug before it fell,” Schneep countered with a petty little smile. “Otherwise you’d have to perform quite the disappearing act when I woke up and started hunting you down to avenge it.”

Marvin waved him off at that, clearly not appreciating the weight of the threat, and Schneep was forced to resist the urge to elbow him before taking a stoic, lingering slurp of his drink. Judging by how quickly Marvin threw himself off the couch, the noise aggravated him just as it was meant to, Schneep noted, stifling a giggle and then stopping up short as realization dawned.

When was the last time he’d found anything funny? He couldn’t even remember. Why had this of all things been the reason for him to crack a smile again? Perhaps it was just childish enough, just relaxed enough that he felt free to.

“I’m going to pick up Jameson from the ABOP,” Marvin announced, cracking each knuckle individually as he centered himself in the hallway to open the portal.

“You left him there overnight?” Schneep scolded, setting his mug on the coffee table.

“Well, he said he wasn’t in any hurry to come back. Hopefully he’ll have calmed down after a good night’s sleep. You should come with me, by the way, to get an update on Sam,” Marvin offered, magic stirring between his outstretched hands. “Let’s hope he’ll be doing a little better too.”

It had been a while since Schneep had traveled by portal; it took him a moment to find his feet and let the dizziness subside but once it had, he looked up. Jameson didn’t come running to meet them and he wasn’t on the cot in the corner, so he couldn’t still be asleep. Where was he?

“Jamie?” he called, moving ahead of Marvin and scanning the darkness. “Jamie, come on out now. We’re here to bring you—”

“Whoa, what’s going on with Sam?” Marvin cut him off in astonishment, drawing Schneep’s gaze to the tank where their mascot was repetitively slamming himself against the backside of the glass.

“Sam?” Schneep’s voice managed to catch the eye’s attention. He whirled around, drawing gasps from the both of them before Schneep hurried toward him, admonishing worriedly, “Oh, Sammy, you’ve given yourself a black eye! What have you been doing?!”

Despite the way his pupil was dilated in obvious pain from the bruises, Sam refused to stop, surging against the side of the tank closest to them and then charging at the backside, striking it three more times before rushing back to them and whipping his tail frantically to and fro. Marvin soon joined Schneep at his side, trying to puzzle out whatever Sam may be communicating. He didn’t have long, for moments later Sam shook himself and hit the back of the tank yet again, so hard that they could hear the  _thunk_  reverberate back to them before he spiraled down to the bottom of the tank, rather dazed.

“Stop for a moment, little one, you’re hurting yourself! Why are you hitting the glass like that?” Schneep demanded, blinking in bewilderment as Sam sluggishly turned away from them and stared off in the direction of the debris dump. Now that he was actively following his gaze, the doctor leaned sideways, commenting, “Is it me or is some light coming from there?”

“Well, yeah, but some of the machines like to flicker on and off,” Marvin answered, extending an arm to bar Schneep’s path as he tried to shift toward it. “I’ll check it out. You take a look at Sam.”

Opting not to argue, Schneep lowered himself to a crouch and clicked his fingers invitingly. “Here, Sammy. Here!”

Sam usually listened to him more than the others so he had honestly expected him to obey immediately, but instead he remained fixated on the direction Marvin was going. Tsking in bewilderment, Schneep snapped again, more insistently, finally earning a halfhearted wag of Sam’s tail and a glance back at him.

“Come here,” the doctor urged again, his worry and confusion lingering even as Sam backed slowly away from that side of the tank and wandered toward him. Sam himself looked far more upset than Schneep was, so he put a hand against the glass which Sam promptly swam to, nuzzling against it for comfort as the Ego crooned, “There’s my Sam, there he is. You’re very swollen and bruised, little friend…How long were you hitting the glass? Tell the good doctor what is bothering you, hmm? What made you do this?”

“Jameson!”

Marvin’s bark of alarm broke both Schneep’s concentration and the progress he had made at calming Sam down. The mascot flew back toward the other side, bouncing up and down in front of it urgently as Schneep scrambled to his feet and jogged after the sound of Marvin’s voice.

“Jamie?” he called again. “Marvin, what’s going—?”

Before he could finish, Marvin was barreling into him, shoving him back the way he had come and paying no heed to his yelps of pain as he spat, “Back, get back!” and clamped a hand over his face, blinding him.

“What?! M-Marvin, what are you—? Get off!  _Oof!_ ” The stunned grunt was forced out of him as his back was planted forcefully against Sam’s tank. Only when Schneep had stopped struggling against the new position did Marvin take a moment to still, one arm pressed against Schneep’s chest to keep him where he was. Why was he panting so heavily, so panically? Schneep wondered, too nervous to ask.

“ _Don’t_ … _look_ ,” Marvin growled lowly, to which Schneep helplessly shook his head.

“Your hand is over my eyes,” he reminded him apprehensively. “I can’t look.”

At that Marvin heaved a deeper breath, muttering something that Schneep couldn’t quite catch before raising his voice again. “Okay. Okay, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Can you do that?” At Schneep’s wordless nod, he continued cautiously, “Jameson is over there.”

“Then why doesn’t he come to us? Why don’t we go to him?”

“He can’t and you can’t. I can go to him, but you can’t come with me.”

His face contorting under Marvin’s hand, Schneep allowed some of his frustration to blend into his voice as he protested, “Why not? It’s the debris dump! Nothing special, I’ve been there hundreds of times—”

“Not for the past nine months, you haven’t,” Marvin interrupted pointedly, his fingertips digging into the skin under Schneep’s temple. “There’s been an… _addition_  since you’ve been gone. It was back in December. There was something new, something we’ve never seen before, that wasn’t like anything else we’d experienced. We put it there because it was just too dangerous to have in the house.”

“What?” Schneep breathed, both taken aback and increasingly uneasy at this news. Because their faces were mere inches apart, he could hear Marvin swallow hard. He could practically hear him thinking about whatever the outcome could have been before getting his mind back to the moment at hand.

“You need to wait here,” he instructed, shushing the younger Ego before he could protest. “ _Wait_ , Schneep. I’m going to get Jameson and bring him back here. When I do, he’s going to need you, but while I’m over there, this is what you need to do: you stay right here and keep your eyes shut no matter what you’re hearing. Do you understand? When I take my hand away, you keep your eyes shut and you don’t open them again until I tell you it’s safe. Are you hearing me?”

“What  _is_  this danger?” Schneep couldn’t resist asking, to which Marvin simply repeated his question. “Yes, I—I understand.” As the pressure of Marvin’s hand eased on his face, he hurriedly ducked his head and closed his eyes, straining his ears to follow the magician’s footsteps as they receded in the opposite direction.

It took entirely too long for them to grow louder again; by the time they did, Schneep was fidgeting, his lashes flickering ever so slightly as the temptation to peek grew. He could feel Sam pressed against the glass immediately behind him, tapping it restlessly, which just fueled his own nervous tension. At long last, Marvin relented, though his voice was quiet and pained as he did so.

“…You can look now, doc.”

Schneep’s eyes flew open. As soon as they did, his mouth dropped open with them and he lunged forward, forgetting all about how he had planned to look in the direction of the debris to see how Marvin had dealt with the unknown menace.

“No…No,  _no!_ ” Nearly knocking heads with Marvin as he bent over the gentleman cradled in his arms, Schneep burst out frantically, “Jamie! Oh, Jamie, what’s happened to you?! Jameson?” Sliding his hands underneath the youngest Ego’s head, he gingerly lifted it from where it had fallen against Marvin’s shoulder, tightly cupping his ashen cheeks and peering into his glazed, distant eyes. He was staring right through him. “Can you hear me?! Can you—? Marvin, bring him to the cot and lie him down!”

Releasing Jameson and letting his head fall, he rushed ahead of them, his mind racing as he turned on the old lamp nearby, frenziedly wiping the dust off on his coat as his heart throbbed to keep up. This couldn’t happen. This couldn’t  _be happening_.

“Be a good doctor,” he murmured hoarsely as the fear that had become all too familiar now created a tremble in his fingers. “Be a good doctor, be a good doctor, be a good doctor…He needs you…We’re—we’re not losing him too…”

 _We_ can’t _lose him too._


	21. Recoil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last Chase is allowed to return home from the hospital. He has high hopes for how he and the others are going to regroup after the chaos of the past few days, but the welcome he receives is nothing close to the one he expects.

“I really appreciate you guys driving me home like this,” Chase murmured gratefully, keeping his eyes closed as he leaned into the sway of the vehicle turning back and forth.

“Of course we would. Mark let us borrow the van again because there is no patient alive who’s in any condition to drive themselves home after a surgery,” Dr. Iplier reminded him from the driver’s seat, glancing back at him in the rearview mirror before making another turn. “Although I suppose they wouldn’t be in any condition to drive if they were dead either.”

Chase couldn’t help but laugh at that, glancing sideways toward the third man sitting beside him. “Aw, c’mon, Host, you have to admit that was funny.”

“The doctor makes far too many death-related puns for the Host’s liking,” was his wry response. “And because the Host is forced to see him multiple times each day, he is unfortunately subjected to each and every one of them.”

“Ah, you love them,” Dr. Iplier blew him off. “You just won’t admit it.”

It was interesting to see them now as opposed to how they had been in the hospital, Chase decided thoughtfully. Despite Dr. Iplier’s clear profession, he seemed much more comfortable when he was away from the hospital than within. He was more talkative and had a bit more humor to him, even if it was dry humor.

The Host, however, seemed just the same. Perhaps it was just the way he was everywhere. What must it be like for Dr. Iplier to be subjected to  _him_  every day? The doctor didn’t seem to fear him as so many of the other Ipliers did. Bing often made him out to be evil incarnate—unless he was discussing Dark, that is. From everything Chase had seen so far, he just seemed stoic, aloof and withdrawn.

“By the way, what plans did you have for post-op therapy?” Dr. Iplier was saying when his attention returned to the outer world.

“Oh, I don’t know, whatever Schneep may assign me. He’s done brain surgery for me before. He knows my brain, so he knows what’s best.” Dr. Iplier scoffed lightly at that and Chase met his second peek in the rearview mirror with a rueful smile, waving a hand. “I know, I know, that’s your shtick or catchphrase or whatever. Sorry, doc.”

As his hand fell back into his lap, Chase absently tugged at the hospital band around his wrist, setting his head gently against the headrest behind him. He wasn’t about to make a big show of regret about wounding Iplier’s sense of pride. At the moment, he was just too relieved to be going home. The thought occurred to him briefly that he hadn’t bothered calling ahead to let the others know he was coming during his hurry to get out of the hospital. Once Stacy and the kids had left, he had been more agitated than ever and had spent most of the night thinking instead of sleeping.

Hopefully Marvin and Schneep had mended their bridges while he was gone. He’d heard all about their spat from Dr. Iplier and by all accounts it had been a nasty one. Maybe after taking yesterday and a good portion of today to cool off, they had realized how important it was for them to stick together. They couldn’t afford to be coming apart at the seams; they had Robbie and Jameson counting on them.

 _But if they won’t be there for them, I will be. I always will be,_  he promised himself for neither the first nor last time, a slight smile crossing his face as he imagined just how happy the two of them would be to see him. They may not be Connor and Brianna but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come running to see him when he came through the door and he’d be more than happy to meet them. It had only been two days since he’d last seen them and yet it felt even longer than eternity.

Chase hadn’t thanked either of them for getting ahold of Signe to help in the first place, he realized, his content, comfortable anticipation waning ever so slightly. He had never considered how scary it must have been for them to see him and the others bleeding out on the floor in front of them…He’d completely passed out while they were still back in the ABOP and had never thought to ask Jameson what had happened while he was out cold.

 _He was more than worried for me; he was_ afraid _for me. Huh…He’s never seen me bleed like that before. Come to think of it, he’s never even seen me hospitalized before, like the others have; Schneep’s always been able to handle it at home! Must’ve scared him to death…_

It was all too easy to recall the occasions that Jameson had gotten hurt, whether it was superficial or serious. Chase’s memory of each and every one was so vivid, it was as if he had lived it himself. He had felt the fear so  _strongly_ , as if his heart was pumping so fast that it would cause internal bleeding. Was that how Jem had felt? Without the others there to guide him, he must have felt alone, helpless. He had no way of knowing what might happen to them and with the frantic, delirious way Chase had reacted to the idea of surgery in front of him, he had probably been even more terrified.

Cringing belatedly, Chase lowered his gaze to his lap for a moment or two and then exhaled. He wasn’t about to let that memory linger between them. It was in the past and they were all going to be just fine moving forward. They’d be able to get through it together; he was never alone, not when Chase was there to help him. He would be sure to reassure him of it as soon as he saw him. A hug would probably be the best place to start.

With that decided, Chase closed his eyes again and returned his head to its place on the headrest, letting his mind drift openly without forming any full thoughts. He could already feel the makings of a headache coming on and he wanted to avoid letting it fully manifest as much as possible. He didn’t look up again until he felt the Host put a hand on his knee.

“The Host would like to inform Mr. Brody that they’ve reached Egos Incorporated.”

“Your destination will be on the left,” Chase quipped back, hoping his smile would inform the Host that he was joking. He wasn’t sure whether or not it was received well, given that the Host only raised an eyebrow in return before opening the door and sliding out ahead of him to give him a hand. As soon as he was on solid ground, Chase breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a shaky laugh upon seeing home.

After all of the turmoil they had gone through over the past three days, things were going to be better, he repeated mentally, forcing a smile and nod as the Host asked if he was alright and Dr. Iplier began gathering up his things from the back.

He and his family would get through it together, no matter what was thrown at them.  _Positive mental attitude_.

When he unlocked and opened the front door, the first thing he heard was hushed voices from the living room nearby—whispers which ceased as soon as he called out, “Hello? Guess who got discharged today?”

There was a brief millisecond of stillness before Robbie peeked out of the kitchen, his face lighting up as he bounded toward him, crying gleefully, “Ace! Ace home!” At least that was just as Chase had imagined it, although Jameson was nowhere in sight.

“Hey there, buddy!” Chase exclaimed, wincing good naturedly as Robbie latched tight arms around him. “Whoa, okay—little hard to breathe, Robs—thanks. Man, it’s good to see you…” As soon as Robbie set him back on the floor, however, he noticed the zombie looking more than a little self-conscious, even troubled. “Aw, what’s wrong?”

“…Sorry,” Robbie mumbled, shrugging his shoulders impulsively and then glancing up at the Host and Dr. Iplier, shrinking back a little further as he repeated, “Sorry.”

“What have you got to be sorry for?” Chase asked, brows knitting. Robbie shifted his weight back and forth apprehensively, gnawing on his lower lip.

“Tried to eat…” he admitted gingerly before turning on his heel and shuffling back toward the kitchen, muttering something about still being hungry.

“Okay, Chase, I need to set the ‘get well’ flowers from your camera crew down,” Dr. Iplier reminded him, to which Chase startled, apologized and hurriedly shifted to get out of his way. As he did so, he peeked into the living room, his eyes lighting up upon seeing Jameson sitting in the middle of the couch.

“Jem, I’m home!” he exclaimed as greeting, genuinely puzzled and a little hurt as Jameson didn’t even bother to look at him, his eyes fixed on the television.

When Chase followed his gaze, he blinked a few times. The TV wasn’t even on. Why was Jameson looking at it like that?

“Oh! Marv, Schneep, Signe…” he greeted warily, peering at each of them in turn where they stood against the side wall, all glancing between him and Jameson with distinct expressions of unease. “What’s…What’s going on?” he questioned, chuckling nervously.

Signe swallowed hard, sharing a look with Marvin before venturing weakly, “Chase…”

“Alright, I’ve set the flowers on the kitchen counter—” Dr. Iplier began as he returned, stopping up short when he really took in the scene for the first time. As soon as he did, his lighter tone completely dropped. “Something’s wrong.” With this proclamation he promptly brushed past Chase and scooted the coffee table aside, uncaring when the half-filled mug on top of it sloshed coffee onto its surface as he crouched in front of Jameson, snatching a penlight from his nearby medical bag and clicking it in front of Jameson’s face.

Already breaking out in a sweat, Chase surged a few steps forward, demanding again, “What’s going on? Schneep? Marv? Why aren’t you guys saying anything?”

The Host’s hand gripping his arm was enough to make him stop, casting a fearful glance back at the seer. “Jameson Jackson is indisposed at the moment,” he stated, thinking twice about his matter-of-fact tone and softening his next words. “He can’t hear Mr. Brody.”

“What? S-Someone—someone tell me what’s going on!” he stammered, the ache in his head flaring painfully as he turned it back and forth, searching for anyone to respond. “Answer me! Someone tell me what happened to him!”

Eyes dim and grieved, Marvin clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides for a moment or two before he managed, shaky but succinct, “He found the Watch monitors.”

Everything in Chase’s stomach plummeted to his feet as memory flashed before him:  _he, Jackieboy and Marvin crowded around the screens, Chase pointing out anomalies, Marvin pulsing magic through each monitor as Jackieboy coded and recoded, hacking and damaging whatever he could in a desperate attempt to wrench the livestream out of the Glitch’s control._

_When it was over, hours upon hours later, and the Christmas livestream continued on its course, Chase had exhaustedly leaned back in his chair, staring down at his shaking hands and then over at Jackieboy as he’d torn the plugs out of the strip. “What are you doing?”_

_“This is going into the archive,” he said shortly, pausing for only a moment to catch both Chase and Marvin’s eyes. “We don’t say a word about this. It’s disappeared from the channel, so hopefully it won’t bring Anti any more power.”_

_“But what about the fans who recorded it?” Marvin protested roughly. “Its influence is still there! If anyone shows that footage online, these monitors could become a conduit. They could switch right back on!”_

_“Which is why I’m putting them in the debris dump with the rest of the junk, where no one will find it unless the pocket dimension’s opened for them,” Jackieboy repeated. “You have control over that dimension. No one goes in there unless we want them to.”_

_“And Jameson?” Chase ventured as the hero continued gathering up the cords and wrapping them around the legs of the desk. “What do we tell him?”_

_“He’s sleeping. He’s heard enough about Anti to be petrified as it is and if we told him about this, he’d be too terrified to look at a screen again. That just doesn’t work with the age we live in…He doesn’t have any reason to go poking through the dump and even if he did, there’s no way he could turn it on without help.”_

“Anti…” Chase gasped, tears stinging his wide eyes as he struggled to breathe. “Anti—Anti c-couldn’t get to me while I was in my surgery so he went for  _him_ —”

Skirting around the coffee table to reach for him, Signe pleaded, “Now wait, Chase, this isn’t your fault—”

“Then whose fault is it?!” he shouted, recoiling from her as he went on, “Marvin, you were there for it, you’re immune! There’s gotta be some way for you to help him, isn’t there?! There’s gotta be s-some magic or something that can—”

“Chase, I can project myself into others’ minds, but Jameson’s mind is different,” Marvin protested miserably. “It’s in a loop, it’s locked.”

“ _I don’t care!_  We have to do something! There’s gotta be some way of b-breaking the loop or—Schneep, maybe you could give him something—a  _stimulant_  or a—!”

“I wasn’t there for this Overnight Watch, Chase; I can’t dare to give him anything when I don’t know what his brain is doing right now,” Schneep whispered.

“So you’re not going to do anything? Neither of you?! Are you going to let him start bleeding from the eyes like Jack did?!” Chase hollered, cheeks flushing hot with anger under the tears spilling.

“They did everything they could for him, Chase,” Signe tried again, placing a hand on his arm that was quickly smacked off.

“Stop it, get off me! Don’t try to tell me they did everything they could because it is _not_ good enough! Just  _look at him!_  How can all of you just stand there and let him—? He’s catatonic!” Sobbing breathlessly, he dodged Signe’s next attempt and kicked the coffee table further away so he could crouch next to Dr. Iplier, snatching at Jameson’s hand. “Jem? Jem, please, please tell me you can hear me!”

“From the looks of it, he’s completely unresponsive,” Dr. Iplier admitted grimly, motioning with the penlight. “His pupils aren’t even dilating.”

“But he can’t—He  _has_  to—” Chase choked out desperately, his grip on JJ’s fingers tightening until both their knuckles were turning white. When he noticed, he released his hand in favor of cupping his face, tilting his head away from the TV in some attempt to lock eyes with him. “Jameson… _please_ …C’mon, buddy, you’ve gotta snap out of it!”

Jameson gazed numbly back at him, no signs of recognition in his face—not even a twitch. Biting his lip in a poor attempt to stifle another sob, Chase pressed his forehead against the other’s, mouthing near-incoherent pleas as his tears shook the both of them.

_Not you. Please, not you. Please come back. Why, why did it have to be you?_

_Why did it have to be you?_

“Chase,” Marvin ventured pleadingly, casting a shadow over them as he approached. “We’re…we’re going to figure this out. I don’t know how, but we will.”

Hadn’t he been thinking similar thoughts not long ago? Chase realized, stiffening. And look what it had brought him. Look what it had  _cost_  him.

“It could’ve been one of you,” he muttered raspily, accusingly, dragging his hands away from JJ’s face and watching as he mechanically refocused on the TV. The vlogger shook yet again at the sight, for an entirely different reason, and as Marvin offered a hand to help him up, he took it. Once Chase was upright, the older Ego put a hand on his shoulder, entirely unprepared for Chase to throw his body weight into the hold and crack him across the jaw with a well-aimed fist.

“Chase!” Schneep yelped in horror, scrambling to catch ahold of Marvin as he stumbled backward, gasping and cursing in disbelief as he pressed a hand to his cheek and it came away bloody, courtesy of the gash torn into his skin by Chase’s wedding ring. Dr. Iplier was on his feet, snatching Chase’s arm and hauling him away from the others toward the hallway.

“It  _should’ve_  been one of  _you!_ ” he screeched over their clamor, tossing and turning in Iplier’s grip in a futile attempt to lunge a second time. “You cowards, you won’t do  _anything_  to help him! You could do something, I know you could but you  _won’t!_  You’re gonna let him be just like Jack and Jackieboy and act like there’s nothing you can do! How could you?!  _How could you?!_ ”

“That’s not true, none of it!” Schneep implored, tightening his grip on Marvin’s back as the magician winced and pressed the edge of his cape against his cheek, struggling to catch his breath.

“It’s just cos you’re  _weak!_ ” Chase spat, earning a flinch from the doctor. “You don’t know how to wake up the others so you’re not even going to try for him! I can’t believe you’re just gonna give up on him! Is it because you don’t  _love_  him as much?!  _Well, I do!_  I’d do anything for him— _anything!_ —and I’m not gonna let you—!”

Before he could continue his tirade, however, something that appeared in his peripheral vision froze him where he stood.

“Jameson?”

His breathless word drew the others’ attention to what he had seen: a speech slide had appeared in front of Jameson and was lingering there, dark and blank.

“Jameson?” Signe echoed in a whisper. At the sound of her voice, letters began materializing in the darkness of the slide, one by one, but before any of their eyes could focus on them, they were letters no longer.

“Musical notes,” Dr. Iplier stated gingerly. “He’s…humming? But what would he be humming?”

Allowing his cape to fall through his fingers back to his side, Marvin answered, sounding more than a little sick: “ _Silent Night_.”

Without any further warning, Jameson lurched, the speech slide winking out of existence. His stance stiffening, the gentleman twitched a second time, blinking, tearing his eyes away from the TV.

His tears threatening imminent return, Chase pulled against Dr. Iplier’s arms, hardly daring to hope. “Jem? Jem, it’s me!” he cried out. “Can you hear me? Are you okay?!”

To his relief, Jameson responded to his voice, blinking a few more times and then lifting his head to lock eyes with him. As he did, he lit up, a slow smile spreading across his face, and Chase smiled hurriedly in return.

“Are you okay?” he repeated eagerly, urgently.

Though he kept smiling, Jameson’s eyes narrowed, glittering faintly as he tilted his head. “Yo͜u͡ all͠ tho̧u̡g͡ht I was gonȩ.”

Cold. Every drop of blood in Chase’s body ran like ice at the voice— _that voice_ —coming out of Jameson’s mouth—audible, gleeful and coarse. The youngest Ego’s giddy smile only stretched wider at the paralyzed horror of the group around him.

“Bu̢t̵ ̕I'v͘e ̢been ̴here ţhis̢ en͞ti͝re ͝time…k͟ee͜ping an̢ e͝y̕e ̵on̸ th͠ings… Y̡o͠u ͠sto͞p͢pe͠d paying att͠e̴n̴tio͠n͞! Well, I͝ ̶h̢o͜pe you’re ha̶ppy… I͟s̨n’t it şa̢d͝ w̨hat ͠h͜a͠ppens͜ ̴w̨h̴e͡n we let ͢o̶ur͜se͝l̡v̢es͡ ̧care ̶again͡,̴ ̶Chase?”

“No!  _NO!_ Anti, stop! Take me!  _Take me instead!_ ”

Chase’s howl set off an explosion of noise too loud and too fast for him to follow. In the blurred chaos that followed he could see the Host taking Signe by the shoulders and ordering her behind him. Robbie barreled into the room at the uproar, his confused and aggressive shouts drowned out by Schneep, clutching at his ears and screaming at them to make it stop as he heard that voice again for the first time since he’d escaped. At last Marvin caught ahold of him by the wrists, pulled his hands away from his head and replaced them with his own, sending a burst of magic through his temples that made him flinch and go limp, sliding into Marvin’s ready and waiting arms.

“Calm down, we need to  _calm down!_ ” he roared over Jameson’s glitching laughter as he dragged Schneep toward the Host and the others. “Iplier?!”

“On it!” the doctor barked back, accompanied by a painful prick in Chase’s neck. It sent a cascade of pressure over him, an unseen tide that fought against his panicked attempts to reach his boy and tear the Glitch out of him piece by piece. The last thing he saw was a flash of mingling green and blue. From there, everything went white—and then black.  


	22. Unbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie serves as witness as the others struggle to shake off the fear Jameson’s outburst struck in them. Once he gets a moment alone with an unsure and uneasy Marvin, the zombie decides to share an idea with him.

The chaos that Robbie stormed into was disorienting, to be sure, but he barely paid attention to it. The only thing that mattered was that voice—the one he had heard when Chase promised to teach him about the “real monster” in their home. He had taken Robbie to the television in the corner of this very room and had shown him footage, footage of the monster hurting all of them.

“Bad,” Robbie had growled, cloudy eyes narrowing at the man as he blipped in and out on the picture, appearing on one side of the room and then the opposite, back and forth, back and forth. Chase had nodded somberly, staring down at the floor as if he didn’t even want to look at the evil one on the TV, even though he couldn’t hurt them in there. Robbie had noticed and had impulsively hugged him.

Now, however, Chase was screaming, the monster was screaming, everyone was screaming. The noise bombarded Robbie’s ears as he bounded over the coffee table, recapturing his balance and turning wildly to and fro to figure out the source of the panic. It was Jameson, he realized when he saw the gentleman sitting on the couch, throwing himself back against the cushions and cackling madly.

Robbie froze for two seconds, the few deeply engrained memories in his mind contradicting. Where was the evil man? That was Jameson! Why was the voice here and the monster  _wasn’t?_  Why was Jameson so happy? Was Jameson the evil man? But there were tears sliding down Jameson’s cheeks, even while he was laughing—

The monster must be making him laugh like that when he wasn’t really happy; he must be  _hurting_  Jameson! Growling, Robbie lunged, nearly throwing Jameson off the couch with the force of his landing as he tackled him around the shoulders.

“Ames!  _Ames!_ ” he barked, rattling him fiercely until his head finally fell back over the couch cusions and his laughter stopped, unnervingly abrupt. Robbie paused, warily giving him one last jolt that coaxed one more blink out of him before his tear-streaked face went completely blank. Uncertain what this meant, Robbie glanced over his shoulder at the others, who had clustered across the room. For a lingering moment no one dared to breathe and then Marvin cleared his throat.

“Robbie. Robbie, l-let him go,” he instructed shakily, to which Robbie obeyed, sliding off the couch and peeking between Marvin and Jameson as the former approached the latter and slid a hand underneath his head, lifting it so he could look him in the eyes. Jameson didn’t laugh again; he didn’t even move.

“I think he’s reverted…” Marvin announced at last, glancing back at Dr. Iplier, who passed Chase’s slumped form over to the Host and moved closer.

Robbie took his place near the Host, peeking at the Iplier Ego and sniffing faintly as the scent of blood reached him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew somehow that he’d smelled it before, just as Signe had described to him after his memory lapse, but he forced his attention away from it onto Chase, groping at his face and knocking his hat off in the process. This was an odd place to fall asleep, but a moment later he looked over to see Signe crouching over the sleeping Schneep too! Last time he’d seen them asleep, they were in puddles of blood, he mused pensively. Hopefully they would wake up soon…

“I suggest you isolate him,” Dr. Iplier was saying when Robbie returned his attention to him. “You better not put him anywhere near Jack. If that— _whatever_ that was happens again, you’re in for even bigger trouble. You don’t happen to have a straitjacket available for him somewhere in the house?”

“No, but I’ll put him in his room and cast some shielding spells over it,” Marvin sighed, shoulders slumping as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Brows furrowing in thought, Dr. Iplier reached out, tipping the magician’s chin up so he could examine the side of his jaw.

“You need stitches for that cut.”

“Oh, it figures. Let me just get things figured out for a few minutes,” Marvin muttered, casting a bubble of magic around Jameson to lift him from the couch. Robbie perked up at the sight, automatically drawn to the magic’s beautiful glow as Marvin trudged wearily down the hall with the still, stiff, unblinking Jameson floating in tow.

“The Host Foresees that he and Ms. Hansen—perhaps with the zombie’s assistance—will be taking Dr. Schneeplestein and Chase Brody to the lab and settling them in the medical beds next to Jack until their sedation wears off.”

“Robbie, do you want to help me carry Schneeplestein?” Signe asked hopefully, to which Robbie promptly spun on his heel, already nodding as he grabbed one of Schneep’s limp arms and swung it around his neck. Signe did the same with the other arm and given the height difference between them, Schneep was slumped at a rather awkward diagonal angle between them, but they puzzled it out as they walked him down the hall toward the lab.

Once Signe informed him that they needed to get him onto one of the beds, Robbie grinned, snatching the doctor’s other arm away from her as he bragged, “Sheep not heavy!” and easily heaved him up into place next to Jack.

“Okay, gentle, Robbie, gentle!” Signe warned. “You don’t want to hurt him. We have to tuck him in very sweetly.”

Stilling, Robbie glanced at the sheets he had trapped under the doctor’s limp form and grabbed the nearest free fold, tucking it politely over Schneep’s nearest knee. Laughing weakly, Signe shook her head, moving forward to do the job properly as Robbie watched across from her. She did it much better than he could, he noted, mimicking her movements in midair and doing his best to memorize them as she draped the blanket over Schneep’s chest. The movements left him only moments after he saw them.

Once the tucking was finished, Robbie shuffled loyally to her side, following as she shifted a few feet over to Jack’s bed. Her expression had changed; she looked much sadder than before, but Robbie was soon distracted as he heard the squeak of wheels nearby. Marvin was perching on the stool by the cabinets, craning his head back to expose his face to the doctor. Robbie hurried over at the sight, planting himself nearby to act as a witness. Dr. Iplier gave him a sideways glance and Robbie beamed in return.

“I stitch! Stitch lots!” he exclaimed, rolling up one of his torn, dirty sleeves to expose the stripes of stitches keeping his forearm connected to his elbow. Dr. Iplier gave him nothing but a grunt as acknowledgement, which was good enough for him. At least Iplier let him stay as he wound the thread into Marvin’s skin, quietly reassuring him whenever he winced and the skin pulled. It was rare to see one of the other Egos need stitches; it made Robbie feel a warm form of kinship with him when Iplier finally synched it and Marvin lowered his head, brushing careful fingers along the thread.

“Alright, now that you’re set, the Host and I need to go,” Dr. Iplier stated, shoving his sewing kit back into his nearby medical bag. “We didn’t plan on staying this long; there’s a meeting we need to get to and we can’t afford to miss it.”

“I…I understand,” Marvin concurred reluctantly as he rose. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. How long is Chase going to be out from that sedative you gave him?”

“About four hours.”

“Okay, that’s not too bad…Signe, were you planning on—?”

“I’ll watch them,” she promised softly from where she had perched in the chair beside Jack’s bed, running a gentle thumb over the back of the hand she had taken in her own. “I’m staying for a while.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Hopefully Chase will be a little calmer when he comes to; if he punches you again, you’ll have to sew your own stitches,” Iplier warned, adding with a wry glance at Robbie, “unless he feels like pitching in to help.”

“Help Marm!” Robbie promised, trotting along after them as they made their way back toward the front door.

“I may take you up on that,” Marvin informed him, though Robbie couldn’t tell by his tone if he meant it or not and he changed the subject immediately after. “Iplier, I—I hate to admit it, but I have one more favor to ask before you head home. Schneep’s down for the count now, so there’s no one to head back to the hospital…”

“Why would any of you need to head back?” Iplier questioned, already swinging the front door open for the Host to pass him.

“I was hoping you would be willing to sign Jackieboy into our care,” the magician admitted. “After everything that’s happened, the police probably aren’t going to keep guards posted by his room forever. By the looks of it, he’s not going to be waking up to tell them what happened so…I want to bring him here. He needs to be home.”

“I’ll see if they’ll accept my signature,” Dr. Iplier conceded after a few beats. “Just try and make sure he doesn’t die as soon as he’s out of their hands, okay? I don’t want my name on that. And Marvin…I haven’t seen much of Anti, but if he’s anything like Dark, you need to be very,  _very_  careful about your next move.”

That wasn’t a particularly kind way of saying goodbye, Robbie mused uncomfortably, fidgeting as Dr. Iplier closed the front door behind him. Marvin exhaled slowly, staring at the door for several more seconds before clenching his fists at his sides, striding back into the living room and readjusting the coffee table so it was back in its usual place.

Robbie backed off, retreating into the kitchen and settling down onto the floor. Marvin fussed with every little bit of the living room that had been put out of place and Robbie stayed quiet, deciding not to remind him that he had been the one to throw the couch cushions into such disarray. When that was finished, the magician went still, glancing hatefully over at the television and then at the entertainment center underneath it. From one of the drawers within he drew a collection of little dolls that Robbie hadn’t seen before. Curious, he reached out and Marvin automatically shook his head.

“These aren’t for playing,” he said shortly, surprising Robbie by skirting past him and dumping them all into the sink. That wasn’t nearly as much of a surprise as Marvin’s sudden slew of curses and the fire that burst into his hands. The zombie couldn’t help but jump as he hurled the flames down into the sink, clearly intending to burn the dolls up, but it didn’t seem to last as long as he wanted. As soon as it died, he cursed again, turning on his heel and agitatedly walking the length of the kitchen.

Now that they were alone in the silence, Robbie quietly began fiddling with his fingers to entertain himself as he tracked Marvin’s movements back and forth across the kitchen. He did look a lot like a cat as he prowled back and forth, the zombie decided, giggling a little at the thought and then self-consciously stifling it, hunching his shoulders when Marvin gave him a pointed glance to let him know it wasn’t appreciated.

After a few more seconds of watching the older Ego pace back and forth, Robbie rocked back and forth uncertainly, venturing, “Marm okay?”

“…No, Robbie. Not really.”

Frankly that answer surprised him, causing him to still. Marvin was always okay, wasn’t he? Robbie couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been—or if he had been, he’d never admitted it out loud. What could he do about that?

“Hug?” he offered, opening and closing his hands invitingly. Marvin scoffed lightly and smiled a little, though the latter was unfortunately short-lived.

“Thanks, but I don’t think that’s going to help here. I just…I have no idea what to do. Everything’s hitting the fan again and again and there’s no way to make it stop…no way to turn it off.”

“Fa-a-an?”

Throwing up his hands listlessly, Marvin turned on his heel, muttering, “I can’t expect you to know what that means. The point is that everything that could possibly go wrong is going wrong. Jackieboy would know what to do, I know he would, or at least he’d be able to help the others keep hope! He’d find a way. He’s better at this than I am, he’s  _made_  for this: leading, teaching, inspiring. I’m the performer, I play the part! I don’t write it, I don’t have control over  _any_  of this.”

Robbie nodded thoughtfully, though he didn’t say anything as he got back to his feet and lumbered over to the sink, peeking in. When he hesitantly poked a finger instead, the sink was hot but its contents were entirely cool, so he scooped up the Chase doll, clutching it tightly and waving it up and down so it would “hop” along the kitchen counter. He could at least play with it while Marvin was distracted.

“Schneep is falling apart,” the older Ego sighed. “Actually, he never  _stopped_ falling apart. Chase has lost too much to trust me; he blames me for what happened with Jameson and he is right to. If I had been more careful, if I had thought about what I was doing before letting him go alone—! See, I don’t—”

Rotating back toward Robbie with a swirl of his cape, he rapped on his forehead, emphasizing, “I don’t  _think ahead_. That’s not how my brain works! I focus on what’s happening in the moment and I do what I think is best for that moment. Jackieboy’s got some kind of sixth sense where he can tell what’ll happen, he can see the chain reaction and he sees it with the best ending possible. Then somehow he gets all of us to believe in it, to hope in it! I don’t have that. I don’t know how to inspire hope or teamwork! I’m a solo act, Robbie. I—”

When Marvin stopped up short, Robbie did as well, looking up from the Chase doll and the Marvin doll he had been twirling around together. The magician blinked at the sight for a few moments and then Robbie beamed unknowingly, using the Chase doll’s arm to poke the Marvin in the cheek. Marvin’s eyes darkened as he impulsively scratched at the stubble around the stitches.

“I need some kind of asset. I need something that the Glitch doesn’t have.”

Tilting his head, Robbie glanced back down to the dolls clutched firmly in his hands. Dropping the Chase onto the counter, he took ahold of the Marvin doll’s arms and waved them back and forth spastically, smiling hopefully as he did so.

“Magic!” he exclaimed.

Marvin’s brows furrowed at that, his eyes following Robbie’s movements with the toy. “What?”

“Magic,” he repeated emphatically, jumping the doll up and down, back and forth. “Ati no magic! Marm magic!”

He wasn’t sure if it was a good suggestion, but he knew that was what Marvin did best. It was how he did everything; he could solve anything with his magic! The words did make Marvin fall quiet for a long series of moments, lifting his hands and allowing brilliant green sparks to swirl over them. Robbie lit up at the pretty sight, patting the Marvin doll against his open hand with eager applause.

Marvin didn’t smile as he usually did when he received praise. Instead he remained solemn, his frown only deepening as he squared his shoulders, shifting into a summoning stance and then murmuring low, flowing words that Robbie didn’t understand as he swept one hand high and then low, fingers flaring to claw at the air until a glowing fissure appeared.

This didn’t look like the other portals Robbie had seen him make, he realized, cooing in awe as Marvin reached a hand into it, his elegant, rolling language growing short and sharp as he grit his teeth and pulled. From within the fissure came a book. As soon as it was in Marvin’s hand, the portal snapped shut and he fell back a step, heaving an unsteady breath.

Dropping his doll, Robbie blinked at the book. It was fairly thick, its binding such a deep black that it seemed to swallow the light from the air around it. Its spine was lined with thin, vibrant purple curlicues traveling in spindly twists and swirls and the magician slowly but surely traced them with one hand, getting accustomed to the book’s weight in his grasp.

“You’re right, Robbie,” he growled, scanning the tome’s cover with keen, attentive eyes. “Maybe if I want to get more control back in my life…I need to learn control over some  _other_  things first.”


	23. Fission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marvin goes to great lengths, crosses great boundaries, and makes great personal sacrifices for the sake of his brothers. He’s going to save Jameson, no matter what it takes.

Marvin genuinely wished he could say the dark magic was unlike anything he’d felt before but if he had, he’d be lying. The only reason he had hidden this book in the pocket dimension was so he would be able to resist the temptation of using it again…so he wouldn’t have to reveal to the others that he’d ever used it at all. Even holding it in his hands again made the hairs on his arms prickle with discomfort and unease, but his grim determination outweighed those feelings. It was exercise, nothing more. The sooner he began growing stronger in it, the less uncomfortable it would be.

That didn’t mean the journey was going to be anything near pleasant. He had sequestered himself in his room, kneeling over the book where it lay ever so innocently on the floor in front of him. Not long ago, Robbie had watched him summon it and had asked if he could look at the pictures. Naturally Marvin had refused him. Just thinking about seeing them again with his  _own_  eyes made his stomach roil.

Resisting the urge to flinch, he leaned forward, ghosting a cautious hand over the cover. It felt ridged and uneven under his skin, as if there was a design on the cover, but nothing was visible in the yawning blackness of its sleeve…It wouldn’t reveal itself until he opened it and his intentions for the dark magic were revealed.

Dare he do this?

The longer he kept his hand on the cover, the longer he hesitated, the tighter his throat got. He swallowed with difficulty, blinking hard and forcing his focus to the reasons why. He could only imagine how loud Schneep’s screams had been as they echoed the blows Anti rained down on his battered body for endless hours of endless days. Were the screams he let out now as he woke from nightmares any comparison?

Too many times he’d seen the brokenness in Signe’s eyes as she hovered by Jack’s bedside, the silent pleas as she bent to kiss his forehead, and the despair which broke her that much more when he didn’t react. Perseverance and hope were long gone. The only reason she kept coming back was because she knew how much it would break the Egos if she didn’t, and how much it would break Jack when he woke— _if_  he woke—and she wasn’t there.

He watched Chase’s slow fade. He was buckling day by day, his smile wavering more and more as bearing the responsibility of Jack’s role wearied him. He had always been good in front of a camera and he had always been better at lying, but Marvin had heard his voice break on the outro sometimes and as soon as the camera was off, he’d seen him hurl the headphones aside and curl into Jack’s computer chair, hiding his lookalike face.

Jameson. Oh, Jameson, staring in terror up at those monitors, alone, helpless, with no idea of what he was seeing. Marvin didn’t  _want_  to remember the creeping horror he had felt that night, but he knew Jameson was experiencing the same. Marvin had been with Jackieboy and Chase when he saw it—relatively safe. Jameson had no one—no one to explain, no one to comfort or save him, no one to break the cycle.

Marvin needed to be the one.

Gritting his teeth, he pried the book open. The pages fluttered and hissed, the essence of the words slithering down the margins in branching streams to find his fingers. His body seized up as soon as they made contact, swirling eagerly into the whorls of his fingertips and the creases of his palms. The pages  _wanted_  him to hold them, to take control over them again, but it was too much too fast; they were moving beyond his grasp before he could tighten on them. The words literally weighed into his skin, dragging him down so his elbows were on either side of the book where he gripped it as spells materialized in cramped coils over his hands and wrists and forearms, nosing intrusively underneath his three-quarter sleeves.

“Stop…” he gasped out. They didn’t, letters curling over the curve of his biceps and stinging the crest of his shoulders like thousands of tiny spiders. Some of the letters reached the base of his neck and then tumbled, spilling over his collarbones and down the center of his chest to tighten around his abdomen, drawing a sharp, shrill cry as they impatiently unraveled the stitches there.

Wet warmth spilled down his stomach as the wound reopened, but he wasn’t focused on that, shuddering, whining and arching his back as the magic crawled through the incision into his chest. From there it took ahold of his lungs, squeezing and releasing them opposite to every breath he took; every time he inhaled, he couldn’t find any air and every time he exhaled, air forced its way into him. His eyes swam dangerously, his head falling lower under the sheer pressure, pain and pleasure.

_Lightheaded—too dizzy—No, no, don’t black out! Don’t…don’t…_

When he pried heavy eyes open again, the first thing he was aware of was the lingering scent of old paper pressed against his cheek. It took him a few seconds too long to register that his head had fallen against the open tome and when he tried to lift it, it was a struggle. Pushing himself up on weak, sore arms, he took a moment to let the headrush subside. He had the distinct sensation of waking up from a sleep that was too deep, the kind that left him wondering if he was late to something important. More critical at the moment, however, was the fact that his skin was bare—as were the pages of the book in front of him. Tentatively he flipped through it, finding that a little less than half of them were blank.

Last time he’d tried this, he recalled in amazement, he’d only managed to absorb the power of seven pages before he went under. Granted, he had vastly improved in his magic since then, but a few pages short of half was better than he had expected. Cautiously examining himself, he reached a hand under his shirt and probed at the wound. The stitches were intact. Had he imagined they were torn out or had the magic returned them once it seeped into his body?

He didn’t feel awful, but he certainly didn’t feel  _well_. His skin seemed too thick over his bones, as if it had closed in and tightened on him, polarizing against the outside world, and his thoughts were…dazed, disjointed.

He had to perform a spell. He had to see if it had worked.

The next several hours were spent summoning and charming various objects around his room, crushing them under the pressure and then building them back up. The more he practiced and built his confidence, the clearer his mind became. For the first time in a very long time, it felt as if he was seeing all of the angles. His magic responded faster than he had even summoned it; by the time he felt comfortable, every particle was sliding through his hands with only the smallest of efforts. At long last he swallowed stale nausea and rose, joints cracking and resettling as he turned grim thoughts to the kitchen.

When he got there, he did have to stifle a small, knowing sigh. Robbie had taken all of the dolls out of the sink and had clearly spent a long time playing with them; they were strewn all over the kitchen in odd, contorted positions from whatever game he had subjected them to. Robbie looked up when Marvin came into his field of vision, a grin breaking out on his face.

“Marm, I play game!” he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet with the Schneeplestein doll clutched tightly in one hand. As Marvin glanced at him, however, he stopped up short, recoiling a few steps and returning to a crouch just as quickly as he’d left it.

“Robbie?” Marvin prompted, eyes narrowing in puzzlement. The zombie squinted at him in return, gradually tilting his head and shuffling back a few inches farther toward the dining room chairs, as if he were a dog that hadn’t become reacquainted with the company yet.

“Marm…” he repeated pensively, blinking a few more times before sitting up straighter, the guardedness in his expression washing away in favor of proper recognition. “I play game!”

“I can see that,” Marvin concurred, picking up the doll in his own image and turning it back and forth in his hands. “I’m going to be taking this one away now, okay? You’ll still have the others to play with.”

“’kay!”

 _Maybe I should be insulted that he wasn’t too attached_ , the magician mused wryly as Robbie hurried over to the Jameson doll and nestled it in by the Chase.  _Or maybe that’s a relief_. Either way, he wasn’t about to let that stop him. As he made his way down the hall toward the lab, he flexed his fingers, letting the doll hover in midair over his palm as he murmured his spell. It shivered, twitched, and then set to thrashing back and forth as he placed his free hand over its face, focusing the blood and the magic to it. As he tore at its core, he could feel the sick glee, the rage and the utter hatred that had been poured into it, creating a bitter taste of iron at the back of his throat.

_W͜h͢o do͡ ̧you͞ ̴think͠ y̵ou’ve be̷ȩņ watching a̷ll̡ t͠his time͠?_ _J̶ust ̨m͡y ͠pu͡p̛pets!_

Back and forth the doll shook between his hands—back and forth, back and forth, back and—

_Well, there are no strings on me…_

He was breaking something that was meant to be untouchable, he realized, a thrill of rebellion and resolve coursing through him and bringing strength to his fingers.

 _No…strings_.

With a weighty thud and a poof, the doll sprang apart at the seams, bits and pieces of the yarn tangling around his fingers as they fluttered toward the floor. Marvin blinked at the strands, a slow smile lighting his face as he turned his hand and flicked them off his fingers before moving on.

While his smile dissipated by the time he eased the lab door open, his cautious hope hadn’t. Signe was bent over Jack’s bedside as usual, holding his hand against her cheek. Whether that was to warm him or for her to absorb his warmth, Marvin didn’t know, but he kept his coming quiet so he wouldn’t startle her.

“Signe…?” he ventured, drawing her attention.

“Oh. Hey, Mar—” She paused then, looking him up and down with the same perplexed expression Robbie had worn. “You look different somehow. Your…” Laying Jack’s hand down with gentleness, she rose, moving closer to peer at him and then reeling back slightly. “Your eyes! Your pupils are violet!”

Startled, Marvin promptly swept his hands together to conjure a mirror, eyes widening as he lifted it. “Well, would you look at that,” he concurred, trying to keep his voice even for her sake even as he thought back, wondering just how long he’d been sleeping in contact with that book. Letting the mirror dissolve away in a shimmer of dim sparks, he glanced back over at her. “I tried something new with my magic,” he explained vaguely, hoping it would be enough to appease her. “I want to see if I can expand my power, actually do some good with it. Maybe I can help Jameson shake off what’s happening to him. But first I wanted to check in with you.”

“I’m…I’m the same,” Signe sighed, shrugging despairingly as she glanced back at Jack. “Seán is the same. I don’t know what else to do for him, Marvin. I just want this all to be over.”

“Well, I’m going to see if I—” Marvin paused then as the door to the bathroom off the lab squeaked and Chase emerged, wiping his wet hands off on his jeans. How had Marvin not noticed his medical bed was empty? Either way it was too late now. Chase stopped up short when he saw him, his hands stilling their movement.

They stood across from each other in silence for a long series of beats and then Chase shifted uncomfortably, murmuring, “How’s your face?”

“Fine,” Marvin answered, keeping his voice even.

“I…didn’t mean to give you more stitches.”

“I know.”

Pursing his lips, the younger Ego glanced between him and the floor a few more times before remarking, “You…you look a little weird.”

“So I’ve heard. I’m just trying something different with my magic…I’m going to try and bring Jameson around.”

It struck a blow to Marvin’s heart to see Chase’s head come up so quickly at that. “Really?” he gasped, disbelief and hope lighting his face for the first time since he’d emerged. “You think you can? What’re you gonna do?”

“It’s a different form of magic than I’m used to, but I’ve been practicing for the past several hours and I think I’ve gotten a good hang of it. I was able to destroy a little relic that Anti left for us to find.”

“You’re serious?” At Marvin’s nod, Chase breathed a hurried sigh of relief, surging forward a few steps. “And you—you’re sure it’s safe for Jem?”

“Well, it’s about as safe as an operation,” Marvin admitted, glancing sideways at Schneep. “There could be complications, but if it works, it’ll save Jameson’s life.”

A broad range of emotions swept over Chase’s face at that and Marvin knew that they were thinking the same thing: the last time there had been an operation involving Anti, it hadn’t gone in favor of the patient.

“I’m going to try,” the magician repeated at last, keeping his voice steady. “That’s all I can promise.”

“I guess that’s all I can expect,” Chase concurred softly, his expression wavering somewhere between guilt and admiration. Marvin didn’t plan on letting him hover there for long, turning on his heel to leave and only pausing when Chase lunged forward and caught ahold of his arm. “Marv, bro, I’m sorry. I wasn’t right; you’re not a coward. You’re one of the bravest people I know.”

“Thanks.”

That was all that needed to be said between them. Chase let go of his arm, following unobtrusively as Marvin strode down the hall toward Jameson’s room. The entryway shimmered and sparked with cruelly bright green light, layer upon layer of protection spells to keep anyone from getting in—or out. Marvin pressed his lips tightly together as he pressed his hands against the barrier, waving them down with a cascade of violet anti-light. He could feel the shift toward confusion in Chase over his shoulder, but the vlogger didn’t ask and he didn’t answer.

As he’d expected, Jameson was sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring vacantly through the doorway at them as soon as it swung open. Suppressing a shiver, Chase crowded against Marvin from behind, whispering the youngest Ego’s name and receiving no response.

“I’ll need you to stand back,” Marvin advised pointedly as he moved forward, shutting the door behind them, and Chase hurried to stand by the wall on his left. “I’m going to be trying something I haven’t before so it’s not gonna be like anything you’ve seen from me. It may scare you but you can’t break my concentration even if you’re worried about him, okay? You need to just let me follow through, even if it looks like it’s going bad. If you try to break us up, it’ll go much  _worse_ , I promise you.”

“Okay,” Chase breathed, looking back and forth between them with agitated apprehension.

“Chase…” Marvin hesitated, trying to search for the gentlest way of making his point. “He’s probably going to scream. A  _lot_. He’ll seem like he’s in a lot of pain and I know you’ll want to go to him and try to help, but you need to restrain yourself no matter what you hear from him. Got it?”

“What about what I hear from you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Steeling himself, Marvin summoned twin bursts of magic in his hands, off-color magic that shimmered in the way heat creates a mirage on asphalt. “Just be ready to help him when he wakes up.”

The moment he threw his hands out and his magic made impact with Jameson’s chest, the younger Ego fell back against the mattress with a heavy thud. He was only limp for a second or two before his body seized, twitching and thrashing and arching silently for almost a full minute as Marvin started shifting his hands back and forth, as if he were pedaling them. Jameson’s tremors were like a wave; he had to find the rhythm, the motion, he had to be in tune with it.

As soon as he found his balance with it, he began murmuring his spell and Jameson fulfilled his promise. The screech he let out made Chase jump and clap his hands to his ears; it was the audial equivalent of broken glass against rusty sheet metal, but there was a garbled, staticky undertone to it that reminded them exactly who this was. As Marvin pressed closer, the screaming was all too quickly drowned out by what he could sense in Jameson’s head: static, dread, the clamor of thousands upon thousands of fans struggling to escape Anti’s hold even as they tried to contain him.

The room faded away as he let his eyes close, envisioning the chaos he was wading into. He could feel some of them running, slamming into him in their desperation to escape but he held firm like a cliff face bombarded by the high tide.  Every blow echoed in his ears, marred by thousands of voices—younger, older, softer, louder, hoarser, thicker, weaker, braver—all of them tangling together, crying out against Anti’s control.

In the midst of it all, he had to find Jameson. As soon as the tide of escapees subsided, he found purchase, sprinting into the gray-white storm before him. He could see them in front of their monitors, their screens, fingers flying back and forth in frantic attempts to reach each other, to rally. Their faces were obscured, represented by nothing but glitching avatars. He saw phantom children, puppets without strings, thespians, pilots, ravens, sick patients, warriors and keepers, but no matter how close he drew to them, he couldn’t touch them. They glitched out of existence when they were still just out of reach.

It could have been years before he located each and every one, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a brief flicker of blue against the blinding snowstorm of static. Shielding his face as the whirlwind intensified, he plowed through it, calling out as he distinguished Jameson in front of his own screens.

“JJ! Jameson, can you hear me?!” Every step became a greater struggle; the static was burning his skin now, each particle like pellets of hail, but even as he bled he continued. “ _Jameson!_ ”

When he finally reached the monitor, his heart stuttered as he saw the cords striped up and down Jameson’s arms and legs, binding him to the chair. There was a thicker one synched tight around his throat and his eyes were streaming tears, unblinking as they stayed fixed on the monitors.

“Jameson!” he hollered again, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it desperately.

“Hh—” Jameson wheezed, stiffening in pain as the cord around his throat tightened. “ _Help me_ …Help me, p-please, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

His voice, Marvin realized, eyes widening. That wasn’t Anti’s voice. There weren’t any speech slides to read, but that was  _his_  voice, soft, shaky and shallow. This was Jameson’s mind, the one place he could speak for Marvin to hear. “We’re getting you out of here,” he swore hurriedly, bending down to examine the cords, trying to follow them to a source, but their path led far into the storm where he couldn’t follow. “JJ, you need to look at me.”

“I—I  _can’t_.” Hyperventilating, Jameson shook his head as much as he was able, panic and anguish filling his voice as he whispered, “I’ve tried, Marvin, I’ve tried, but I can’t look away—!”

“You can, you have to! I can’t help you unless you look at me,” he pleaded desperately, clamping his hands around the cords securing Jameson’s nearest arm. “You need to—”

“Re̷t̨ak̶e co̶ntrol͜?” Anti finished for him in a mocking sneer as he flickered onto the screens. “Suc͟h a ͢p̧ity you haven’t ̛hea͜rd͢ t͘he news!̡ T͠his is ͡ _m̡y͢ ̡doma͢įn_. The poor ļitţle̴ ̧puppet'͡s̨ ̕nǫt͜ strong enou̡gh, c̨ha̢rme͜r—and nei͟th̢er a͝r͜e y͞o̴u.”

Jameson was weeping now, his bindings hissing and slithering like inanimate serpents, and Marvin grit his teeth as he tilted his head and squeezed the one under his hands. “Is that so?” With those brief words, he sent a sharp, powerful pulse of magic into the cord, causing one of the screens on the right to flash and black out. Anti’s form contorted and spasmed in turn, drawing a screech from him as his body didn’t recoalesce as well as he would have liked.

“W̛ha͡t—W҉h͜at͝ i͜s th͠is?” he snarled, his head and shoulders twitching and breaking up as Marvin tore the dying, sparking cord away from Jameson’s arm, leaving a bruised stripe behind in his skin.

“An intervention,” he hissed. The second cable was thinner, easier than the first, and the magician couldn’t help but offer a savage grin at the slew of enraged curses the Glitch spewed at him as the rest of the screens on the right went black. Before Marvin could lunge for the cords on the left, however, a crackling, contorting arm burst from the blackened screens, barely tangible until it managed to latch onto him by the hair.

“You ̛t͞hi̧n͡k͡ you ̴a̢nd ̢you͝r charms ca͢n cu̡t hi̧s stri̶n͝ģs?!” Anti howled, wrenching him sideways by a fistful of his hair and crashing his head into the screen’s glass, wringing a pained cry out of him. “You’ll n̵eve̴r be s̷t͢ron͘g̢ e͟no̡u͜g͘h tǫ hęlp him ͝w͜hile h͟is̷ bod̸y is͡ ͞mi̸n͟e!” His clawed fingertips sank deep into Marvin’s scalp, drawing blood as he dragged his head into the screen a second time, then a third, then a fourth, accentuating his words. “ _You’l̸l͠ ne͘v͜er—be ̧ri̢d̶_ — _of̴ m̛e!̴_ ”

“Stop, stop, I beg you!” Jameson screamed as Marvin buckled, vision swimming as he hung from the Glitch’s grip on his head. Whatever Jameson’s next plea was, he never got the chance to voice it; the cables around his left arm abandoned it, joining the one around his throat and doubling, tripling its grip. Even as his hands were freed and he scrabbled at them, he couldn’t escape the stranglehold, gasping noiselessly for air that couldn’t reach him.

Terror, desperation, helplessness—all of it transformed into a surge of adrenaline so sudden and deep in his chest that Marvin was moving before he had even registered thought. Black lightning and thunder exploded from him as he tore away from Anti’s grip, snatching at his glitching arm and wrenching it down and out with such force that he could feel the cracking in his own bones.

Anti’s howl held far more shock than anger this time and Marvin reacted, twisting it the other direction and earning another sickening crunch. The screens below it cracked, spewing sparks of electricity, and Marvin’s black magic infected the rest of them in less than a moment. The world around them heaved and the storm of static billowed wildly out around them, funneling into a tornado. Marvin kept his hold on Anti’s damaged arm even as the rest of his body thrashed and twisted and broke with such force that it was nothing but a spatter of static and blood on the screens. He could feel him, he could feel the agony he was causing him, and he knew it was enough.

“ _I EXPEL YOU!_ ” he roared. The monitors shattered, Anti screeched, Jameson gasped for air, and Marvin was thrown back into his body in Jameson’s room.

“Jem, Marvin?!” Chase cried out as Jameson slumped back against the soft surface underneath him. Marvin followed suit with the nearby wall, struggling to recover his balance. His head was still throbbing from the impact against the screen.

“I think—I think it worked,” he managed to choke out as Jameson stirred, blinking dazedly up at the ceiling as he tried to get his bearings. Marvin was expecting Chase to lunge to Jameson’s side as soon as his eyes opened, but the vlogger stunned him by rushing to him first, throwing his arms around him. Though his tender, aching body burned at the contact, Marvin was too shocked by it to push him away.

“Thank you,” Chase whispered tremulously. “Thank you so much, thank you,  _thank you_.” With that he parted from him, hurrying to JJ’s side and snatching up his hand as he struggled to sit up. “Jem? Jem, you’re okay, you’re back with us now! H-How’re you—how are you feeling?”

As soon as he was upright, Jameson locked wide, tear-filled eyes with the magician. Though he didn’t say a word, the older Ego knew his question: Had that just happened? Rubbing his neck, Marvin gave him an exhausted nod, and Jameson quailed, hiding his face in Chase’s chest even as he reached a quivering hand past him, toward the one who had saved him.

Stumbling over on trembling legs, his heart still racing madly in his chest, Marvin sank down next to them, clasping Jameson’s hand between his own and bringing it against his chest as he leaned, letting his forehead fall heavily against Chase’s shoulder.

Together, they breathed.


	24. Fusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been three days now since the struggle for Jameson’s mind. While he continues his recovery, Schneep has one more favor to ask of Marvin.

“How is he?” Chase questioned anxiously, tugging on the hem of his shirt as he peered over Schneep’s shoulder at Jameson.

“Even better than he was yesterday,” Schneep assured him, fanning his penlight back and forth in front of Jameson’s eyes and nodding his approval as they dilated properly. “You’re making a fair recovery, Jamie, but I’m still recommending you stay in bed or on the couch for another day or two.”

 **“I’m in perfectly high snuff about that,”** Jameson admitted, receiving a blank look from the doctor in response. **“I—I’m more than willing.”**

“Well, I’m glad to hear it! Now if you could pass some of that positive attitude along to _another_ such patient who needs his bedrest…”

Chase huffed at the none-too-discreet comment, waving him off. “I’ll rest when I know Jameson’s alright.”

“You say that for _days_ now, Chase, you cannot keep using the same excuse! The little sleep you get isn’t enough,” Schneep sighed, stuffing the penlight back in his pocket and rising. “Take small catnap in here if that is more comfortable for you, if Jamie makes you more at ease. Just lie down _somewhere!_ ”

“I’m not tired, Schneep, I don’t need it,” the younger Ego insisted as he took the chair beside Jameson’s bed, earning a stare from the gentleman that Schneep could sense even as he was making his way out. Chase’s last words before he closed the door were telling: “Aw, don’t make that face, Jem! Just let me read to you some more!”

He honestly shouldn’t have been reading at all, given how much it taxed his brain. Frankly Schneep hoped that if he was going to be stubborn and there wasn’t anything they could do to stop him, the reading would wear on his supposedly endless energy and he would crash in that chair after a chapter or two. It would be better for both of them.

That being said, Jameson was making a swift recovery, at least in terms of the physical side effects. Schneep had to believe that based on what Marvin had said about the Overnight Watch and its influences.

Emotionally, however, he could tell that their youngest wasn’t quite the same as he had been. He was withdrawn and pensive, almost somber. Schneep didn’t know exactly what he had experienced when he was trapped within his own mind, but it was going to have a lasting effect on him. That could only be expected. Schneep’s own possession had left him reeling, unable to think straight, and he had never gotten the time to process it before the horrors began.

Jameson needed time. He needed time to sort out his thoughts and feelings—tremble and cry, break something, anything to process the trauma of what happened. Schneep had to wonder if it was in any way similar to how Anti had possessed him at birth. Had it felt the same to him?

Marvin had shaken him awake from his magically induced sleep and told him Jameson needed a doctor three days ago. These days had been filled with a strange, stringent tension in the air. It wasn’t a tension of anger or even unease, simply an unspoken anticipation. Marvin spent several hours per day in his room, practicing with his new magic, and every time Schneep passed his door, he could feel the anticipation rise. It was no different now as he paused, his hand falling against the doorframe.

There was a question Schneep had to ask him.

Steeling himself, he knocked, pushing the door open before Marvin could give or deny him permission. The magician lifted his head, startled, and the cards he was bending and stretching returned to their normal size, fluttering lightly to the floor.

“Schneep, what are you—?”

“There’s something I need to know.”

With a light sigh Marvin sank down from his levitation onto the floor, swept the cards into a neat little pile and then rose, depositing them onto the end of the bed. “What d’you need?”

Now that he was here with the question on the tip of his tongue, Schneep couldn’t resist squirming, anxious butterflies stirring in his stomach. “J-Jamie’s recovering,” he ventured instead, opting to make some conversation so he could ease into it. “His body seems to be handling it better than I would expect, but you…”

At that Marvin stilled, incredulity, amusement and gratitude mingling on his face as he rounded on him. “You want to know if _I’m_ alright? Yeah, Schneep, I’m fine! I’ve been practicing with it, taking lots of breaks in between, learning more from my tome…I’m taking care of myself and I’m being careful. You don’t have to worry.”

Schneep’s eyes strayed to the very tome Marvin was speaking of, sitting on the bedside table, and just as quickly he tore them away. He wasn’t sure where on earth Marvin had gotten it, but it made something turn in his stomach which only created more butterflies. The etching looked as if it had crawled up from the depths of the black cover, as if it were barely clinging to the sleeve. It was an etching of Sam, which was obviously something he had seen countless times in his life, but this was…different somehow. It was far more detailed, the green and blue so dark that they could only be seen if they caught the light, and the veins in the eye were slightly raised, creeping like thin, spidery branches from its pinpoint pupil.

Marvin’s hand brushing his arm made him jump, drawing a fleeting expression of concern from the older Ego.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes. I’m just as fine as you are,” he managed with a weak excuse for a smile. Fortunately Marvin didn’t question it.

“Was that all you needed to talk about or did you need something else?”

“Well…Are you, ah, are you busy?”

A laugh burst out of Marvin at that. “I’m still here waiting for you, aren’t I?”

“Yes. If you’re sure it’s no bother, we can get to my main question,” Schneep began with a self-conscious flush. “You…you say you’ve been practicing with this new magic for a few days now, yes?”

“Yeah…?”

“And you have a good hold over it. You’re in control?”

“Yeah.” Perplexed, Marvin shifted his weight onto one hip, shaking his head. “Are you _sure_ we’re going to get to your main question—?”

“I want to know if you can wake Jackie.” Marvin’s stunned silence only created more agitation in him. Taking a hurried breath, he continued, “He’s back home with us now, where he should be, and when you save Jamie I get to think. If you can save Jamie from this abomination that trapped thousands of Jack’s fans, m-maybe you could save Jackie from the coma Anti put him in! But I don’t want your magic _anywhere_ near him if it’s not safe, do you hear? I don’t want him getting any worse! I just…want to know if it’s possible that you could without hurting him. Can you?”

“Schneep…” Marvin hesitated reluctantly, eyes narrowing behind his mask in thought. “It’s—well, it’s not the same as what Jameson was going through. I had experience with the Overnight Watch; I knew how it worked. This is different, this is—”

“But you went inside Jack’s head!” Schneep burst out, talking over him as he approached. “You—You were able to get into his head, in and out like nothing!”

“It wasn’t ‘like nothing,’ it was incredibly dangerous,” Marvin cried, throwing up his hands, “for me _and_ for him!”

“And what you did for Jamie _wasn’t?!_ I just want to know if you can! If you—if you say no, then I won’t ask again, but…” Pursing his lips, he cast another nervous glance at the tome on the nightstand and suppressed a shiver, getting slightly sidetracked by the skin-crawling impression that it was staring at him. “Marvin, I don’t know why you have that new tome but it looks as dangerous as going into Jackie’s head sounds!”

“I got it so I could—” Huffing a frustrated breath, Marvin tilted his head back, mouth twisting disapprovingly. “Well. I got it so I could become more powerful, so I could expand my abilities—and I’m guessing that if I tell you no, you’re going to ask me what the point of all this practice has been?”

“It does not cross my mind,” Schneep confessed honestly. He almost wished he _had_ thought of it. “I said I wouldn’t ask again.”

It took almost a full minute for the conflict on Marvin’s face to dissipate and the strange violet in his pupils brightened momentarily as he rolled his shoulders.

“I’ll try,” he relented at last, moving past him toward the door.

“Wh—now?” Schneep called, hurrying after him as he nudged open the door immediately next to his. “You’re doing this now?!” As soon as he entered the room, he couldn’t help but stop up short, his heart faltering. It wasn’t the first time; he had been there to see Jackieboy safely transferred from the hospital to Egos Incorporated. He was the one who had gotten him set up in his room, who had tucked him so carefully into bed while blinking back his tears, but it still startled and unnerved him to see Jackie lying just like Jack, a mere hallway apart.

“No better time than the present, right?” Marvin was saying when he shook off his apprehension and drew closer. “But obviously I wasn’t able to bring Jack out when I went into his mindscape, so I can’t promise anything…You’ve gotta remember, Schneep, that Anti was there both times I entered the mindscape. He kept me from helping Jack and if he’s put Jackie down as far as he did Jack, I don’t know if I’ll be able to help him either.” Noticing the look on Schneep’s face as he sank down onto the edge of the bed, he briefly squeezed his shoulder, his voice softening. “I want him back just as much as you do.”

“…I know.”

Did he, though? Did he really want him back as much as Schneep did? he wondered secretly in the back of his mind, covering Jackie’s nearest hand with his own. Marvin knew that Schneep blamed himself for what had happened to the both of them, but did he know just how much? He hadn’t been able to sleep at all these past few nights, agonizing over everything that had happened. They may have gotten Jameson back, but what would they do without either of their leaders? What would happen if Anti attacked and they weren’t there to protect them? He had a fairly good idea, but he never wanted to test his theory.

“Marvin…if the Glitch was there both times…” he began weakly, “…does that mean I might _hear_ him?”

The sideways glance Marvin gave him was answer enough and his fingers tightened over the back of Jackieboy’s hand. When he’d heard that voice coming from Jameson’s mouth, he hadn’t been able to cope. He had felt everything again, the terror, the pain, everything in him screaming for escape. The magic-induced sleep he’d been put in served well enough, but as soon as he’d woken up, he’d remembered, and it had taken everything in him to focus on what Marvin was saying about Jameson and not dissolve into panic again.

He couldn’t afford to panic here, however. If he did, it could break Marvin’s concentration and probably harm Jackie further. He couldn’t have that on his conscience, he _couldn’t_ , and there was no chance he was leaving either.

“Are you ready?” Marvin questioned cautiously. “Once I start, I can’t stop.”

“Just be careful,” Schneep pleaded softly, glancing between him and Jackieboy’s pale, drawn features. “Be safe.”

The other didn’t respond to that and Schneep frankly didn’t want him to; he had a feeling it wouldn’t have been anything optimistic.

As he illuminated Jackieboy in a deep violet glow, tendrils of his aura superficially fusing with the top layer of his skin, Marvin slowly, slowly, leaned into it, his hands flattening, fingers spreading as if he were pushing against an unseen barrier as he began uttering a language that Schneep could barely latch onto, much less translate. He was straining his ears for something else entirely. Even as the magic was amplified with each word Marvin spoke, he didn’t hear any of the sadistic, sickeningly familiar whispers, nor any static, but there was a growing swell of tension in the air that no one could’ve overlooked.

“Ah!” he gasped, hastily lifting his hand from Jackie’s as he became aware of it growing feverishly warm at a frightening pace, sweat breaking out along his arms and hairline. Drawing in an uncertain breath, he looked to Marvin.

“He’s starting to get hot—”

“Quiet!” Marvin snapped, to which he nodded hurriedly and returned his gaze to the oldest Ego.

The sweat was beading down his face now, sliding into the hollows of his cheeks, and there was a metallic tinge in the air that made Schneep’s mouth and nostrils hurt as his breath quickened. It was then that he noticed the sweat taking on a sickly  _yellow_  tinge the farther it traveled across his skin. His heart promptly lunged into his throat when Jackie shuddered, a broken whine clawing its way out of him.

“Yes…” Marvin hissed softly as he made a deep “come hither” motion with his hands, pulsing off-purple light from them, shadows and determination sharpening his features. “Hear me, Jackie. Hear me…Wake up…”

It was as if Marvin was leeching an infection out of him, Schneep realized, both repulsed and fascinated by the sight as Jackieboy’s shivering intensified, his head falling from one side to the other against his pillow as if he were internally being pulled back and forth. In fact, he was; it was a tug-of-war inside his mind as Jackieboy wavered between what he thought was reality or fantasy. He needed something to ground him, something to convince him, coax him out. Schneep knew Marvin had told him to stay silent, but he couldn’t any longer, returning his grip to Jackie’s shaking fingers.

“We’re here for you, Jackie,” he implored, squeezing his hand tighter than he thought was possible. The scorching heat was burning his own skin, but he didn’t let go. “Don’t give up! Come back. Please come home, please—We need you. I need you, my friend! I cannot lose you…Not again.”

They were the same words he had spoken nine months ago over Jack’s broken, failing body, the same words he had screamed and sobbed as he searched for that string of life that he could help Jack cling to. If he died, they both died and he could sense that same ugly, desperately painful connection now.

“If we lose you, there’s no hope,” he whispered.

Marvin’s magic sputtered then, the aura around Jackieboy’s body shimmering and flickering like a dying bulb. Turning alarmed eyes to Marvin, Schneep went rigid as the magician released a sharp sob of exertion, straining to maintain his hold over it as its strength waned.

“Marvin?!”

“I’m trying! I’m _trying!_ ” he screamed, perspiration and blood mingling as the force of his magic easily unraveled the stitches lining his cheek, reopening the cut there. Droplets of blood found purchase down his jaw, dripping from his chin to spatter his right sleeve and forearm. No sooner had they landed did they steam and dissolve, melting into him, and the deep, thunderous violet hue of his magic heaved, vibrant red surging forward in its place. Jackie thrashed as it hit him, back arching off the bed as he drew in a cloying, desperate gasp.

“Jackieboy, please!” Marvin begged, crimson spilling through his veins and lighting his eyes as he pushed harder, strained farther. “Please, please wake up! Wake up! _Wake up!_ ”

The hero’s eyes flew open.

As soon as it happened, Marvin collapsed, landing hard on hands and knees at the edge of the bed. Schneep reeled back, torn between the two of them, but as he moved to let go of Jackieboy’s hand and kneel on the floor beside him, Marvin shook his head, rattled wheezes shaking his body.

“Look at him,” he rasped. “Look at him! Make sure he’s okay!”

He didn’t need to be told twice, pressing his hands against each of Jackie’s pulse points—slightly elevated, not too shallow—and then laying them against his face, lifting his head from the pillow so he could search his eyes. “Jackie…” he mouthed, no sound leaving his throat around the lump lodged in it.

Jackieboy’s eyes remained glassy, unseeing, for four more seconds. Then he blinked, pupils dilating as he sluggishly scanned Schneep’s worried features. Eyes widening, a soft outbreath leaving parted lips— _recognition_.

“…Henrik?” he breathed.

 _His voice, after so long_ —Schneep tried to laugh, but all that came out was a raw string of sobs, his heart breaking and healing and breaking again as he helped guide him into a sitting position. Jackie was weak right now, fragile, he reminded himself, hands hovering helplessly over him. He didn’t want to push him too quickly, but his friend promptly erased those thoughts as he leaned forward, clumsily tangling his arms around him. Needing no more encouragement, the doctor collapsed into the embrace, burying his face in his shoulder. Jackie tucked his chin against the younger Ego’s neck in return, breathing shakily, as if he was only just remembering how.

“I dreamt of you,” he choked out, his hands roaming Schneep’s back as if to ensure that he was really there, fully intact. “All of you, I saw all of you when I was…All of you were—I can’t believe you’re okay!”

“I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much…We’ve been nothing without you, _nothing_ ,” Schneep whimpered, tears dampening the neck of Jackie’s shirt. He wasn’t crying with force as he usually did; these were tears of exhaustion, of release, relief from coping. He didn’t have to _cope_ anymore. Jackie seemed to sense it, pressing a hand to the back of his neck to keep him steady as all of the pent-up emotion spilled.

“I was _lost_ ,” the hero whispered, his own emotion starting to get the better of him. “I didn’t know—I saw all of you die. You—you died over and over and over again and I c-couldn’t do anything to stop it—I—I’m so glad you’re safe—”

“We’re safe,” Schneep echoed thickly. Right here, right now, with Jackie conscious, warm and breathing around him, he couldn’t feel any safer.

“Jackieboy…?” Marvin ventured apprehensively as he struggled to his feet, hissing faintly as he swayed and caught himself on the bedside table. His fingertips were bruised blue and purple, Schneep realized as he lifted his head, murmuring sympathetically for him.

Realization dawned on Jackieboy’s face as he slumped back against his pillows, unable to find the strength to stay upright any longer. Even so, he had noticed the bruising too. “Marvin, did you—did you use magic to save me?” he asked in a hushed voice, amazement and concern mingling in his voice.

“Yeah. I’ll be alright, Jackie, it doesn’t matter.” Voice hitching distinctively, he glanced away, briefly reaching to squeeze the older Ego’s shoulder as he added, “I’m really… _really_ glad you’re home.” When Jackieboy caught his hand before he could withdraw it, Marvin pressed his lips tightly together, trying for a smile even as his eyes glistened.

“Thank you,” Jackieboy murmured, heartfelt, drawing a faint sob and a hurried nod from the magician before he recoiled, backing up a few feet so he could get himself together. As soon as he did, Jackie went in for another hug from Schneep, clearly craving some kind of contact. Schneep finally did find a laugh then, tearful though it was, and accepted him, nuzzling the side of their foreheads together.

“Chase and Jameson,” he huffed softly against his ear. “They’ll want to see you.”

Jackie stilled at that, tremulous as he demanded, “They’re—they’re fine, they’re okay?”

“Yes, they’re okay. They are worse for the wear—there are some things that happen while you sleep that put them through a lot—but they’re okay. Their visit will need to be brief; all three of you need rest right now,” Schneep reminded him, pulling away with no small degree of reluctance and then sliding to his feet, wiping the back of his sleeve over his face before glancing ruefully at Marvin. “Actually, I think all of you could use some rest.”

“ _You_ could. You’re always tired after crying,” Marvin countered knowingly, giving Schneep an emphatic stare as he headed for the door. “You stay with him. I’ll go and see if they’re up for visiting.”

“They will be as soon as they hear,” the doctor assured him. “If Chase is asleep, just wake him gently to tell him the news. He’ll shoot us if he finds out later that we didn’t.”

“Sure thing,” Marvin agreed wryly, making his way out. As soon as the door closed behind him, Schneep breathed deeply, returning his attention to Jackieboy as the hero leaned back into his pillows, weary.

“Jack…” he murmured. “How is he?”

“The same as he has been,” Schneep admitted, already regretting the fact that he didn’t have better news. “Signe is with him right now.”

Jackie nodded his relief, lifting his gaze to the ceiling for several moments as it turned misty. “I saw Jack too, versions of him all throughout the years. He was…He…Henrik, if I had to see all of you die over and over again in _my_ dreams, I don’t ever want to know what’s going on in his head. Signe, his friends, his brothers and sisters—What if he’s—? What if he’s suffering as much as I was? What if he’s watching all of _them_ suffer?”

“H-He isn’t,” Schneep mustered uncertainly.

Both of them knew he was lying, but Jackieboy didn’t object, shaking his head minutely as his tears silently spilled. He swept them away just as quickly, hunkering down further into his pillows and exhaling precariously.

After a few minutes of silence, Schneep swallowed, picking at a loose thread in the bedspread as he tried to find the proper words he needed. “I’m…sorry, Jackie. I know I say that a lot, but I truly am. I’m sorry I left you at the hospital.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Jackie waved him off, sniffling faintly. “ _I_ couldn’t have known. We never do.”

Before Schneep could find an answer to that, the door clicked and the doctor’s attention was drawn to the others’ return. “Chase, Jamie,” he greeted as it swung open, rising to his feet.

“ _Stop him!_ ” Chase howled.

There was no time to process the words; before Chase had even finished, Marvin’s fist crashed into Schneep’s face, sending him into the far wall. As he landed in a heap, he felt a surge of blood hit the back of his throat and choked, given no time to spit it out before he was being enveloped in a dark orb that lifted him into midair.

“Henrik!” Jackieboy yelped as Marvin flicked his opposite wrist and tossed the blankets aside, trapping him in a similar bubble. “Marvin, what the—?! What are you _doing?!_ ” Gritting his teeth, he elbowed and kicked savagely at whatever he could reach, but he wasn’t anywhere near full strength. The magic absorbed his blows as if they were love taps.

“Let us out of these—What’s _wrong_ with you?!” Schneep burst out, wild eyes meeting Marvin’s as he pressed his hands against the inside of the bubble’s surface. Through its dappling surface he could see Chase and Jameson immediately outside the door, kicking and screaming and pounding inside their own spheres.

“You honestly think I wouldn’t be here to s͘eę ţh͠is throu̶g͢h͠?” he purred, tilting his head in that familiar way that made Schneep’s hair stand on end. Chuckling, he singsonged, “I wond͜e͟r, whereve̷r̴ could ̨I ̕have͢ gon͠e whe͢n I l̷e̢ft̴ J͡a̶m͟es͜on? The ͡o̸nly rea͘s̨o̷n I ͝woke ̧Jacki̢e͟boy ̨up was s̨o ͡he c͜ould watch—fo̴r _real_ , this̛ ̢ţi͝me.”

All color draining from his face, Jackieboy sent another desperate series of blows to the magic around him, crying out, “No, no! _No!_ ”

Schneep’s stomach lurched as his orb was hurled to the side, hitting the far wall with such force that it spun him in a blurred, nauseating somersault. Ears ringing, he struggled to recover his balance, slipping and sliding within the bubble’s smooth surface as it began to shimmer and hiss.

“What’s happening?!” he wailed, forced to curl in on himself as his containment field put pressure on his back and shoulders. It was shrinking faster than he could process the change, hemming him in, and he was trying to stay calm but there finally came a point when he couldn’t control his body anymore, struggling, twisting and turning in a frantic attempt to break through.

“N͞ow, ̧n͡ow, ̧ _Do͢c͘tor_ ,” Anti, as Marvin, tutted, smiling all the while. “Tha̶t’s an enclo̧s͜ed̵ spa̶ce! Do̢n’t̴ you k͠now y͘ou’ll̷ ̷ųse up mo͡re̴ air if̷ you s͢tr̷u̧g͞g͝l͝ę?”

The sweat that broke out on Schneep’s face and back was like ice as he thrashed, cursing and coughing and crying. It was true—with each harsh breath, he was getting more and more lightheaded, but the terrifying fog of claustrophobia was getting the better of his higher senses.

“Of ͞c̷our̡se,̴ ͝I’ll tak̸e ̴t̵h͝e ͝rest of the air ͡f͢r͢om you a͘nyway!” Anti continued, his gleeful grin fading into a smaller but no less joyful smile of satisfaction as he watched him go on.

 _No—No, please, no—!_ The crushing lack of oxygen had his chest caving in on itself, his vision blurring with smears of tainted color. Without his permission, his pleas fell to nothing but thready wheezes, his heart throbbing in his ears, straining and failing to pump more air into his fight. The world tilted as his body fell apart, slumping to the floor of his sphere as dizziness swept over him in a darkening wave.

“I͘'̴l͢l̨ alway͜s t̴ake͠ ev̡ȩryt̸hin͢g̨ ̵from ͡y̛ou̧.”


	25. Meltdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now in control of Marvin’s body and his black magic, Anti entertains himself with the others and makes some revisions.

Tutting, Anti clasped his hands behind his back. Marvin’s hands weren’t quite like his own, so it was an alien feeling, but he didn’t comment on it, instead offering a serene smile as Jackieboy thrashed viciously, straining to no avail.

“I sugge̢s͟t y̴o̡u ͜s͡top s̕t̛ruggl̴įng,” he commented, to which the hero only fought harder. “Y̶o̵u’ve͜ seen͝ by ͜now͞ what ̛I ̴have plann̡e͡d͠ for them. I s͘howȩd it all to you͘ ̴i̢n your dr̡ea̢m̡s and̨ ever͡y͞ tim͝e ͡y̷ou s͢t̵rug̶gl̢ed, they o̷nl͜y̴ su͞ffer͡ed mor̡e. Is̨ ţhat ̡what ̨y̧ou want? Hmm? A̢n̶d h̡ere I t̕ho͝ųght͠ y͡ou͠ ͡ car͘ed for t̛hem. H͟ere I t͠hoųg̡h͠t̡ you ͝l̵oved ̵t͡he͝m ͠ _s̢o much!_ ”

Although Jackieboy opened his mouth—no doubt to curse him all the more ferociously—Anti didn’t give him the opportunity, illuminating the sphere around him and closing his fist. The hero gasped and groaned as the sphere closed in, suctioning so closely to him that it looked almost like another layer of skin. There were only mere millimeters for him to breathe, so despite the fact that his eyes were frantically traveling back and forth between Anti and his fellow captives, he didn’t speak and his writhing slowed.

“G̛ood boy.” Drawing the other spheres a few feet closer to the hero, Anti lightly tapped Jameson’s, letting its surface shimmer under his fingertips. “Th̸ey’r̢ę so p͝recious wheņ t̷hey’r͘e͝ asl̶eep,͞ ̵aren̶’t the͠y?”

Curled loosely on the bottom of his prison, the youngest Ego didn’t stir at his voice. Anti had opted to take most of the air from him so he would pass out as quietly as Schneeplestein had. The doctor too was slumped low in his sphere, limp and breathing shallowly. There was no point in keeping either of them conscious at the moment; they would only cry and whine and after a while, it would grow bothersome. He wanted to save their pleas for later, after he had treated himself to some of his fun with the others and they could wake up to something grislier. Their panic would be far more intense.

“Anti…” Jackieboy mouthed, eyes narrowing, burning silver with nothing less than hatred. Sweeping Jameson’s bubble aside, Anti reeled Jackieboy in, using the magic to swing him around so he could hover face to face with him.

“Care to b͠e̷g ͘for ͘t̛hem̢?” he questioned, his tone almost gentle with amusement. “Ca͞r̴e͝ to  _de̢ba̕se_  your͞self for̕ t̸hem, cr̡y̨ f͠o̵r them t̛h͟e ͡w̵a̸y y͜ou̵ did ̛i͟n ͞your ͝d̛r͞ea̛ms? Th̷at̵’s a̴ll yo̢u̧’re good̡ for ͡now, her͠o̴: to ̡r͞emi̵nd͜ ͘them ͡wha͢t̡ t̛h̴ey used t̡o believe͘ ͝in. N̕o̢w l̷ơok at them!̧ ͜W̢eak,͞ u͜sele͜ss,̵ b͡rok͝e͢n …”

Dragging Chase’s bubble into view, he spun him violently, steering Jackieboy in his direction so he could see the tears streaked down his cheeks. Anti’s heart swelled with glee as he watched the two of them. Though they barely moved, Chase cried out to him, leaning his forehead against the inside of his prison, and Jackieboy squirmed as much as he was able through his enchanted straitjacket, trying to reach out. His fingers only twitched and Chase’s face crumpled, fresh tears of defeat welling as he ducked his head.

“Y̢o̷u͡ ca̢n’t do anything f̴o̧r t̨hem̶!” Anti exclaimed, batting Chase away toward the far wall of the kitchen. “N͜o͢w̢…͟T͘he̡ŗe’s a ha̡nd͞y ̧litt͢l̶e pocķet dim̷en̨si̵on w͠heŗe the c͢harmer s̛tored the so͡uŗce of̡ his n͠e̷w po͞wer. I th̡i͝n̷k͜ yo͘u’ll b͜e̛ very͜ ͟ _com̛fo͘r̡tab͘le_  ̶th͘e̛re. It͘’ll ͠pre̢s̷s ͘in͠ o̧n your c̡h̷e͞s̵t a̢nd your spine̵ unti͡l y͢ou ͢f̵e͠ȩl like y̴ou͢’re g̡oi͢n̡g to̢ ̧shat͟ter in̵to͟ th͞o̢u͞sands̴ and thous͘a͝nds ͠of̴ pieces. Y̴o̷ur lungs ̨wi͜ll͘ ͞l͢os͝e̛ m͝ore and͟ ͘m̧o̶rȩ ̷of y̧ou͠r air̢ w͡it͠h ever͟y̴ ̵breath,͠ bu͜t̨ you’ll nev̨e̡r̴ be able͝ ͟t͡o suff̷ǫca͡t̵ę. Y͜ou’͠ve̢ s͞pent enou̧g̡h time ̨sl͘e̡epi̶n̸ģ, so I’͡ll ̡ma̧k̴e sure͠ t͘ha̢t you can’t l͟osę cons͢cious͟ness there. I͠t w͜i͘ll give͠ you a loţ of tim͞e ̧t̡o th̶ink unti͞l̡ I’m ready̡ ̶f͘or you.”

With a deep flourish of his hands, Anti brought his mental force down hard on the weak, flickering presence tucked away in this body. Marvin’s life force buckled under the strain, streams of his magical essence bleeding out of him into Anti’s hands as he tore open reality. The darkness of the hidden dimension turned the air inside out, expulsing it in an icy, audible hiss, and to the Glitch’s delight, Jackieboy closed his eyes and trembled as he was propelled into the darkness.

As soon as the portal closed behind him, Anti turned on his heel toward Chase, whose sphere was listing slowly back and forth by the far wall.

“A̕s͝ ͘fo̧r̨ you…̧I̢ t͜h̨in͢k I’͝l͠l be ͡generǫus ͜and ͝h͠e͠lp y̛ou a͠l͢o̴ng ̷i̷n yo͠ur recovery.”

With a flick of his fingers, Chase was plastered to the underside of his bubble as it was turned upside down. He was already hyperventilating as he dangled there, helpless to do anything as his tears dripped down his forehead into his hair.

“W̧e’ve ̨bot͞h seen your c̷h̢i͠ldr̶en h̵angi̵ng ̴up̡si̵de dow͜n f̡r̶om t̵he b̷a̢rs o͟n ͘the pl͝ay̛g͜r͜ǫưn͜d; w͜e know ho͡w͠ this wor̕ks. Let’s m͜a͡k͝e all̡ ͜t̵he b͝l̴o͜od rush to you̶r͡ head̨. ̴We bo͟t͠h ͟kno͞w yo͝u’ve lo̷s͢t̛ more th̶an your̵ fa̵ir ͘s̕h̛are t̡here͡. W͢ho kno͜w͞s̵? In y͠ou͘r w͝ȩak͜ene̛d͝ st͝ate̵, ̴maybe it’͠ll rup͝tu͞re a͘ blo͘od͜ ve͠s͞sel or t͠r͡ig̵g͠e͝r a bra͞įn ̢h͡e͢morrhage̢ if I leave ͢yo͠u there͢ for a f̴e͜w hours! I̵’d͠ be ̨more tha͟n hap̵py͢ to p͡er̢form ͜a little ͟brain s͡ur̢ge͢ŗy̨ on ͝y͘ou myself.” It was only moments before Schneeplestein and Jameson were positioned nearby, just a yard or two from Chase. “And these ͜t̡w̨o ̨w̷ill j̨ust kee̢p sleep̡ing p̨eace̡f̵ully thro͘ugh all of your calls for͡ ͞help, u̡nti͘l̨ I giv͞e th͘e͡m mơre ai͘r an̶d wake thȩm up ̷i͠n tim͝e t͜o see͞ ͜y̶o͜u̡ dyin̴g.”

With that taken care of, Anti turned his attention to his host’s body, prying off the mask and tossing it into the distance. He then tore open the knot that kept the cape synched around him, hurling it aside with more than a little distaste. It weighed on him, its pressure against his neck itchy and restrictive. Tilting his head back, he scraped his nails back and forth over the skin there, envisioning the internal damage he had done to Marvin’s throat during their altercation in the mindscape.

The more he reimagined that moment, the more he became aware of the torn skin, the warm wetness painting his fingers and the scent of metal in the air. Breathing deeply, he rolled his shoulders in satisfaction as rivulets of blood stained the collar of Marvin’s shirt. After dragging his bloodstained fingers through his hair, tearing apart its carefully combed strands, he exhaled.

That was more like it. Now that he felt more like himself, he could truly enjoy what was about to happen next.

The journey down the hall felt longer than any other he’d taken in the past several months; given that he couldn’t glitch to his full potential and the magician hadn’t yet mastered the ability to teleport, his body confined him to taking steps down the hall rather than remanifesting himself wherever he chose. He would have to smother Marvin’s life force even further if he wanted to accomplish that much, but that could wait.

Once he jostled the door to the lab open, it happened quickly. The zombie lumbering around the beds perked up, his milky eyes lighting with recognition of Marvin, bewilderment, realization and menace in the span of three seconds—record time for his sluggish mind. It took him far too long to tense for the lunge, however; Anti was already sweeping a hand out and enveloping him in his own containment sphere before he could leave the ground. Robbie yelped as he somersaulted against the slick inside, snarling and scrabbling feverishly at the magic, eyes wild, spewing froth from his bared teeth and bloodying his hands as he tore them in his fit to escape.

“ _Seen!_ ” he roared at the woman perched on the edge of Jack’s bed. “Seen!”

“S̷igne̵ ͜Ha͘nsen,” Anti chuckled as he steered Robbie’s bubble down the hall at dizzying speed, kicking the door shut behind him. “I̴ knew̶ ̵I’d ͠find yo̡u h̵ere͡! We͢ ̧get ̶som̨e t̷i͡m͞e to ourse̴l͝v̛es w̡i͠th d̢e͡ar ͝J̡a͞ck—” As Signe spun around to look at him, however, he stopped up short, his sadistic grin faltering for mere moments before widening all the more, edged in disgusted interest. “O̧hh҉ … _Yo͜u_  ͡tho̵u̧g̢ht you w̨ould͠ ge͠t to ḩi͞m ͢bef̵or͡e ͠ _I_  ͠did͜!”

“II wouldn’t dream of iinterferiing, Gliitch,” Deathwiish assured him, tilting her head so her black-streaked hair fell over her face as she returned her gaze to Jack. Carding her fingers through his hair with malicious affection, she crooned, “Siigne so loves her poor, sweet angel…She was emotiionally vulnerable, so II deciided to spare her the griief of watchiing over hiim. You really, truly despiise hiim to put hiim through so many niightmares. II can hear them passiing through hiis pretty liittle head riight now.”

“And͜ d̷o ̨you̴ lik̷e͞ wha͜t yo͡u hear?” Anti questioned evenly as he approached, looming just behind and to the side of her. He could feel the muted thrum of her power clashing with his own and with Marvin’s, though it was less of a clash and more of a sly, smooth caress.

“II do. Would you miind terriibly iif II added my own touch?” she requested, glancing up and over her shoulder at him with hooded silver eyes. Baring his teeth in a vague semblance of a smile, he lashed out, snagging a fistful of her hair and wrenching hard enough to draw her head back.

“Hi̶s ̧niģhtm̶ar͠es͞ are̡  _m̡ine_  ̴to e̷n͟joy,” he snarled, eyes raking over her exposed neck and the way it shifted when she laughed, apparently uncaring or unaware of the pain as he dug his fingers into her scalp. At the roots, her hair was sticky with some slick, unknown substance, but Anti paid it no mind, pressing his nails further into it as he laughed back at her. “I͢t͢’s n͞ǫ ̕plac͘e ͢for͠ l͞it̴tle gi͝rls ̕to͟ f͜rolic!”

“Not so liittle anymore…” she singsonged, moving her nearest hand from Jack’s arm to Anti’s as black sickness crawled through her veins and darkened her cuticles. “II could poiison your host and then what would you do? Would you try to tear me apart as you fell apart yourself? Would you riisk maniifesting your real form to hurt me? Oh, but that miight take too much tiime! I could poiison Seán too iin the tiime that would take! Wouldn’t that be a shame, Defect?”

“I can’t̶ b̴e̶  _b͜o͘t̛hered̢_  with ͝y͘ou,” Anti sneered, shifting his weight forward and his right arm down in one swift motion, clamping his hand around her wrist in turn. There they stilled, both all too well aware of their staggered pulses beneath their bruising grips. “Sign͢e H̸ąn̕sen is yo̧u͢rs̢. Se̡án Mc͠Loughlin͜ is mi͞n͟e̵. W͠e̴ ̢es̶ta͝b̵lish̶ed that͟ t̛h͢e firs̷t ti͜me we ͟m͞et, so ̧I͜ do ho͡p͝e m͢y s͞i҉c̵k͞ ̴moppe͜t̨ įsn’t t͠r̡y͞in͡g to ov̢e͞rstep̶ her b̶o͞undari̷es!”

After a long, cloying silence, Deathwiish offered him a grin, actively leaning back into the hold he had on her hair as viscous black tears trailed down her grayed cheeks. “Don’t forget II asked permiissiion fiirst,” she pointed out contentedly. “II know my place.”

“T̶hen͡ ̡l͢et̢ ͝m͟e͠ r̵e̷mind ͢you: y͜our pl͘acȩ  _işn͡’t̶ ͘h͘e͜r͠e_ ,” he hissed, dragging her onto her feet in front of him and pressing his chest snugly against her back as he continued clearly and deliberately. “Do what y͢ou̸ ̢wa͟n͟t ͝with͠ ͜Signe. I s͜ưgg͡est v͠isiting her sis͟te̛r! ̧I̢t ̴might be  _fun͜_. An͝d͠ ̛whe͘n you’re̛ d̛o͟ne̵, ͠brin͜g Signe b͟a̴çk here. I’l͝l wa͟n̷t her to see͝ wha͞t ̨I’ve͠ done̷ ̷w̧įth her ̧fa̵vo͡rite͠ ̶boy͢s.”

With that, he released her, allowing her to tousle her hair back into submission as blackness oozed along her hairline. Her eyes burning, her smile painted in hatred, she squeezed his hand one more time.

“IIt miight be  _more_  fun iif you came to chase me,” she purred as she brushed past his arm. Even as he looked over his shoulder, she vanished in a smear of black and silver before she ever reached the door.

Perhaps it would be, he mused with a tight little smile, considering the times he’d been so tantalizingly close to tearing her diseased, feeble heart out of her chest, only for her to dance away into the darkness. Whatever this was between them, it was an entertaining little game. They both knew the intent behind it and that was no one’s business but their own. She seemed to enjoy abusing Signe’s body during the course of the chase as he did battering Jack’s. Speaking of which…

“Y̶ou̶’v̷e ceŗtai̶nly b̢e̶en ̶trying,” he commented derisively, looking Jack up and down. “Even ̷li͡ke th̶is, eve̷n w̷h̢en you’re ͞t͢hi͞s ͜w͟ea̵k a̧nd hel͢p̨less, you  _f̴o͝ug̨h͟t b̸a̸c͜k_. Y̴ou used t͘he͜ othe͠rs ͠to fig̴ht͡ y͜o̵ur̛ bat͢t͡l҉e͢s͟ f͢o͞r you͠! O̧hh, ̡b̨ut bad̨ news, ̧Jac̶ka̷bo̷y: th̨ey͝ ͜fa͞i̸l̛e̴d. N̵ow̷ ͜I get a tur̸n̢ at the w̵h͟ee̵l!”

Rounding away from him, he crossed the expanse of the room in long, brisk strides, tearing open the cabinets mounted on the wall over the medical counter. Glass beakers and equipment crashed and shattered as he hurled them aside, clamping onto the video camera Schneeplestein used for recording his tests. It was low on battery, he noted with a growl, but he didn’t plan to use it for long. Slamming it onto the counter underneath, he switched it on, settling himself neatly into the chair nearby and rolling it into view with a clank and clatter, discomfortingly loud in the silence.

He spoke.

“Gu̴e̡ss ̴who’s b͜ac̶k,̢ ̶pup͡p̢e͠ts̵?” he greeted, his tone dripping false cheer and foreboding. “You̵ ̴ma̶y ͞find͡ ͢th͝at ̶g̕re̢eti͢n͟g  _f̡a͘mil̶iar_. I jus͡ţ wan̶t̛ ̵you t͡o̢ k͞n̡o͟w͡ who ͟y̷ou’r͟e͟ sp̨e͞ak̛ing to—who you̶'͜v͡e ͘a͝l̵w͜ay͡s be͡en ͠sp͢e͢aki̧ng to. Yo̧u’ve a̵ll just͢ b̶een ͡too bl͠ind t̢ǫ ͟şee it. Th͟e r̢e̡pet̷i̷tion,̷ ̷the smiles, the ͢po͜ems̴…So m̴an̡y t̵riump̵h͞s an͝d̕ los̕ses̨ goin̢g arou̷nd̴ ͠a͡nd ar̨oun̶d a̵nd ar̴ound. T͜he͞re’s only so ma̵n̸y cir̷cle͟s͡ I͜ ca͢ņ tolerate, ͝b̨u͡t̢ y̨o͜u? Y͠oư’re ̵never͘ eve̶n ͞ _awa̡re_  of ̧t͜hem̢!”

He paused there to recover himself, tilting his head to allow a thick globule of blood to dislodge itself from the grisly wound in his throat. It fell to his arm, catching on the hair there and then dissolving into steam, and he huffed softly at the sight. Blood magic—it was just what had empowered Marvin to make that final stretch and wake Jackieboy. It was all he had needed to break him.

 _Blood, sweat and tears_.  _What a powerful little potion_.

Locked in the corner of his mind, Marvin’s presence stirred ever so slightly at the thought, but Anti was quick to hush him, settling him back down into his grieved, semiconscious state. The magician went quietly, like the puppet he was.

“It has ͘b̷e̢en quit͡e͝ ͡a jo͘urney to ̴r̵ęach this p̡oin̡t, ha̢sn’t i̡t?” he mused, giggling and leaning back in his chair with a sticky air of condescension. “Th͜is  _mel̨tdo͢w̨n_ …Let’s ͢call͠ ̷i̧ţ for w͘h̵at it̴ is͡! C̨hapter̸ ̸25: Ep͝ilog̵u̴e.

“I’d͠ l̴ike ̴to give you a̷ll my ̧d̨e͠e͞p͠e̢st ̨t̕han̡k͘s͠ ̡f̨or support͢i͡ng ̧m̵y s͞t͜ory. All t̶his time ̵you͟’ve ͟supposedly b͟e̴e͞n hopi̶ng for ͡your heroes ͡to ̛t͡riump͜h, you’v͠e͡ sti̴l͞l̴ ̶praised  _me_. Y̴ou’v̶e cried, ̢y̴ou’v͠e sc̷reame̡d, y͘o͞u͡’ve̴ beggęd me for more. M̢ore͘ ̴an̢d ͝mo͢r͘e an͞d ͠more! You’r͘e nev͡er ͟s͝atisfie̶d! You’re ͠h̶oo̧ked, you’rę a͡ddict̨ed̴, an̶d you can’t ̴face th̨e ͝t͘ru͞th…I’m̨ n̢ot the on̶ly one͞ who̢ fe̷ed̨s on̴ the͞ir su̵f̷fering. T͝h̸e͘re ͞are ͟so m͢any o̴bed͡ien͟t pupp̡ets I ͠h͞ąve to address f̡or my v͠ict͡o̴ŗy. W̧here c̶an̨ I pǫssibly start?̶!

T̵h͝ank yǫu, Pluto̴a͡nd̕P͞olar̷i̢s, for your p̛rai̧se ̵and̴ eņc͘o͞ur͟age̢ment ̧th̷at  _al̴ways ̨_ m͘ade me͘ smil͞e. For ̴yo͠u͢r͢ ņe҉xt fl͡ǫw̛er portrai͡t, m̨ay ͞I suggest̴ lilies̵?͝ Tḩey’r̨e ͠e͡v͠er͝ ͡so pȩr͢f̵ect ͟f̶or͝  _g̵rief_.

K̶i͠ss͝T͜h͘e͠A̶sh̡e͠s, f̶o͜r trying̶ s̨o hard ͢t̨o cheer on ̨y̧our̴ fąv͡o̡rite͢ b͡o͠y, ev͢en̵ when̡ it amo̧un͝t̕ed ҉to not̷hing! It͘ ̢kept t̶hing̛s in͡ter͡ȩs̢ting̴.

Bin̵g-͟I͠p̨lie͠ŗ, ͠for͜ t͡h͘at sadistic͝ streak t̵h͘a͢t s̕hǫws s͟o ̡m̢uc̴h p͟romi͝se. We’l͝l͡ ̡see͞ just h͠ow f҉ar͜ ̕it t̵ak͟es̢ ͠y̛ou.

S̢p͝oǫk͢yReesesC̴u̡p, P̴h̸antomsCh̵i͠ld̴, and Sp̷areScr͞ibbl͜e͟s, for your of̸feri̢ngs̡ of fa̛n̵art ̶to me. They’r҉e sure to͡ ͡b͝e treasuręd.

A͝nd f̶inal thanks͠ to Kasnki̵t͠, Ţh͝e̷Sin͡gingG͞al͝, ͠ Wing̡sTh͟eP̴h̛oe͜n͘ix͡, A-He͡i͢st-of-Wo͞rd̛s, Farmi͡n͠g̸-Chic͢k̵, Al͠ucard̸dra͜c͟ul͟ina, Weird-͞Teengirl͘02̨, illyr͝iash͠ad͡e͘5̴6, S̷ubt͞l͞e͝_̡Shenanig̨ąns, St͜arlight̴XNigh͜tmar̨e, Yout̢ube_F͜a͢n̨do̶m_̵Fan2018͜, Draco͞nicDrac͞o, Sha͡dowe͞ḑLove97, l͡uv̵ştor͝iesa̴tst̨oplights, the bin̶ge-r͠ea͝d̢e̷rs͢ a̵nd t͘he an͡ons…jus̵t̨ ̴fo̷r s͞cr͢e͡am̧i͝ng.

“I ̧wou̵l̶d sa͜y t̢h̶at i̢t’s your turn t̶o ͟act̡ n̕ow—your ͡tim̵e to ̨ spe͢ak up, y̢our t̡ime to͜ fig̡ht back, but it͞’s not͢. Y͜o̵u̶ ͘ _can’t_  fi͢gh͡t b̵ac̶k, pup͡pets. I͠ have ͜o̧wn̢e͜d you ̧fr͠om the v̶ery star̷t! Yo̶u͢ ͘ca̡n’t͘ s̶top͡ me. T͡r̴y l͜ooking for some͝one els̡ȩ ̕to ̴save ͞you, j͡us̶t  _t̴r͠y_ it. Try loǫkin̵g̡ to y͡o͜ur hero, you͜r̡ ma͢gic͜ian, yo͢u͟r ̶d͡oct͠or, ̡yo̵u͠r f͡a̵t͡h̶er̨…y͡o͠ur̡ poo̵r ̡swe͜e̢ţ g̵en̨tleman̵ ͠oŗ ͞your und̵ead̛ s͞l͜a͜b of  _mea͜t_. N͝on͜e of͞ ͜t͜h͢em ̢a͟re st͟ron͟g enou̢gh! Th̡e͞y ͞ne̴ver w̶i̶ll be!  _I_  ͠a̵m ͝i͢n co͟ntrol. Th͢i̧s w̨ar̴n̨i͠n̵g, ̕thi̧s mom̶en͘t, is al̷l you͝ ͢h̡a̷ve left.”

Breathing deeply as grim satisfaction rippled through him, Anti curled his fingers slowly and deliberately over his knees as he leaned forward into the lens, his inky black eyes reflecting it perfectly.

“Y̴ou̵ think͜ you’re r͠ead̴y t̴o w̨ake ̧u͝p ͞now͠, ͢Jac͜k̢? You thi͢nk you̵’r̡e read̡y̴ to͜ ͠c͘ome b̛ac̕k s͡t̵ronger? Go a̡h̶ea͜d.͜ ͢M͟a̴k͠e ͟y͟ou͝r͞ move.”


	26. Update

So I’ve gotten a few people asking me if Chapter 25 is the end of In Time of Need. The short answer is yes, this is the end.

The longer answer, however, is that I’ve been basing it on the chaos Jack put out during the Egopocalypse from the start. In the story, for example, ( **SPOILERS FOR NEW READERS** ) Jack’s seizure coincided with the video where Jack woke up and said, “I remember what he did to me.” There are elements of everything Jack did hidden in the chapters! I suggest you reread them to find them!

But since all of the chaos came to a slow halt because of Jack’s break and his travel to LA, I don’t have anything else to base future chapters on. This means I have to leave it there –  _until he starts the more overt hints back up again_. 

That’s when In Time of Need Part II starts :)

I really do want to thank each and every one of you for all of the support you’ve given me while I’ve been writing it! It’s honestly astounded me; I had no idea ITON would grow to be such a phenomenon! It means so much <3 And of course you can still rave about it to me; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts about it! I'll also be putting a little fanart gallery here soon to show off every amazing thing that you've drawn for the story! 

In Time of Need will start again. It’s just the calm in the eye of the storm.

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me...


End file.
